Arc of the Revolution
by Aleadrex
Summary: All Jaune Arc ever wanted to do was to enter Beacon and become a hero, but Arcs don't give up just because people see through their fake transcripts! After months of hard work, he finally manages to enter Beacon... as the Supreme Commander and Glorious Leader of a twice-reformed organization now threatening to engulf Remnant in an all-out world war. Uhh, Oops? Move over, Cinder.
1. Prologue: Viva la Revolucion

**Arc of the Revolution**

 **Prologue: Viva la Revolucion – A Glimpse into the Future**

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 **AN:** Alright, so hello RWBY Fandom! I'm Aleadrex and this is probably my second foray into fanfiction so be gentle (but not too gentle ;)) with me please. This is also my first time writing in the RWBYVerse, so should anyone spot glaring errors, I would be glad to know. Thanks.

This was the product of a new and mysterious muse assaulting me as I slept. I actually have the next chapter half-done, it's just that the first real chapter is a long one. Anyway, enough of wasting your time, I sincerely hope you enjoy this just as much as I did writing it.

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"Failure: Omission of occurence or performance; specifically: a failing to perform a duty or expected action."

* * *

Adam Taurus of the New Fang stepped forward, sword dripping with blood, and smile adorning his face.

It was over. They had won.

From the look on Ozpin's normally impassive face, Beacon... no, Remnant knew it too.

The Revolution had succeeded!

Vale's Council Citadel had been besieged and taken not too long ago, the cowardly councilmen escaping via bullhead through secret exits. The Valean anti-air defenses at its walls were now being manned by those loyal to the Fang, keeping Atlas' formidable fleet at bay. The CCT, and by extension, every Atlesian Combat Robot within the city were theirs to command.

The New Fang had accomplished more in the past year than every accomplishment since its conception, back when it was known as the White Fang, and with minimal casualties, on both sides!

Ceding his position as leader to _him_ had been the best move he had ever made in his life. _He_ had managed to turn the White Fang from a terrorist group into a band of heroes near overnight. _He_ had dealt more damage to the Schnee than mere train hijackings and dust theft could do. _He_ had managed to win the hearts and minds of Valeans everywhere, his message of equality and dignity inspiring man and faunus alike.

Beacon was the last obstacle, the last test.

And now, Beacon was all but defeated. Before the Hunters knew the Fang held the CCT, they were able to fake distress calls in Vale and capture a significant number of hunters before the battle had even begun. Hacking into the Academy's network, they were able to launch students' weapon lockers away, leaving yet another portion of Hunters unarmed and easier to subdue, and this was before they sabotaged the food, dust and electricity.

Infiltrating Beacon through passages and pathways opened by hunters, humans and faunus sympathetic to the cause, the New Fang were able to catch the hunters unawares. The Fang had systematically, and non-lethally (Aura had made non-lethal a hell of a lot easier to do.) wiped out the remains of the Valean Army and Beacon's Hunters. All that remained were small pockets of resistance, slowly being chipped away.

With minimal damage to the castle, Beacon was theirs!

The New Fang High Command had clawed their way up Ozpin's Tower; where Ozpin, the blonde witch, a scruffy looking hunter with a sword-scythe, and Blake's Team had attempted to resist them one last time.

This time, it was the Hunters who faltered. Unlike the past, it was not the red of fury Adam saw, but the future... or maybe that was the present, where man and faunus would take up weapons and stand against the darkness together.

There was no more gunfire screaming from outside the building, all anyone could hear, Faunus-hearing or not was cheering. Both Faunus and Human were cheering on them, what was once a lowly terrorist group to succeed.

That vision of the future gave him and his comrades strength beyond their imaginations.

Blades had clashed, and bullets had flown; the light of the soul was called forth, and shaped into semblances by power of will. And then it was over. The remaining hunters were down, aura in the red, but most still conscious, a feat of endurance in itself.

"You'll never win, Adam."

Adam knelt by _her_ , and smiled, a calm genuine smile he never imagined he'd be able to give.

Blake was sprawled on the ground, Gambol Shroud broken; but clinging to consciousness with every bit of will she had left. She'd had but semesters of training, and here she was, already a fine huntress.

"I know. I've lost." He replied.

Blake's eyes widened.

"You were right, Blake, about everything. I was the one who was wrong." Adam said.

"There was never a difference between Faunus and Humans. The goal of the White Fang was equality, and we always were equal; it was just the times that thought otherwise. We simply had to change the times, to challenge beliefs and prejudices as well as the constructs that promoted them."

Adam had removed his mask and for the first time in a while, looked Blake face to face.

"We were wrong to direct our hate and our weapons towards humanity when they were never the enemy. We just had to let our voices truly reach their hearts, Blake. You were right, and I'm sorry. Our victory here merely proves you right."

Adam knew it. His path of violence had never given them anything but hate, while it was Blake's hopes for the Old White Fang that had granted them this victory.

"We'll atone, Blake. I swear, for every life that we'd ended."

Despite the situation, the corners of Blake's mouth had twitched upwards. Adam had sworn he'd seen light return to her eyes before they eyes had closed. She was out cold. Adam stood up. He had made the New Fang High Command, his comrades, his _friends_ , wait long enough.

Adam, and, well, most of the White Fang had given up hope that they would ever get this far, that obtaining equality without bloodshed was nothing more than a stupid dream. Granted, even when _he_ took command, they still had to resort to violence usually, but without blood? Mostly, yes, and that was more than good enough for someone as bloodstained like him.

It was not over yet, however. The Fang Cause had spread rapidly, and while they had finally taken a Kingdom with a supportive and happy populace, they were not without challenges.

The SDC in Atlas tightened their grip on their faunus slave labor, while the Cause spread, as well as amassing large forces to deal with them. While taking control over the Atlesian Robots within Vale was possible with months of prep, chances are, they wouldn't be able to do that again. Ironwood's Fleet was hovering right outside, receiving reinforcements in both ships and soldiers by the week. They would need to make their move very soon.

Mistral, being a kingdom of bloody pragmatic opportunists, was content to wait for now, but on the other hand, they had gained a lot of support in Vacuo, but given its diversity, also expected strong opposition. The whole Kingdom was a powder keg just waiting to go off and explode into a bloody war. They had to defuse this, but much like the others, Adam had faith that their Glorious Leader would manage to stop this.

Plenty of challenges awaited the Fang, but today? Today at least, was a victory they hadn't even dreamed was possible.

Adam turned to _him_ , the man, no, _hero_ , who had made it all possible. He who held the undying loyalty, and the myriad hopes and dreams of hunters, faunus, terrorists, criminals, and civilians alike. The Supreme Commander and Glorious Leader of the New Fang. Throat dry, Adam spoke.

"Jaune, we did it."

Looking into Jaune's clear, pensive sky-blue eyes; not for the first time, Adam wondered what The Commander was thinking. Now contrary to what Adam and the rest of Jaune's comrades believed, he was not thinking of wise words to impart, nor savoring the elation of victory, nor was he already preparing some cunning stratagem that would allow them to once again pull the rug under the Kingdoms. For his heart and mind, save for his mouth, were echoing one thing, and one thing only.

"Goddamn fucking piece of fucking shit FUCK fuck FUUUCK, This was NOT what I had in mind when I said I wanted to go to Beacon!"

* * *

"Cinder, what do we do now?" Mercury Black asked.

She had made a mistake.

She had underestimated him far too much.

Yes, as a hunter he was nothing of note, pathetic even, but as a tactician, manager, and leader?

She had noticed him early on: his early subversions of the more moderate members of the White Fang, his gaining the support of other neutral parties in Vale, his plotting and scheming with certain hunters.

Noticed him and had done nothing, believing that Ozpin, Ironwood and the combined strength of two kingdoms were the greater threat.

Besides, for the most part, she had actually thought Jaune Arc useful, as someone who was content to serve the White Fang as long as they reined in their violent tendencies, and as such, stopped drawing attention to her operations. He had even managed to throw some hunters and the Vale Police Department off the White Fang's, and more importantly, _her_ trail. Best of all, she thought, was that he was someone easy enough to intimidate and cow away should push come to shove.

In hindsight, it was little wonder a majority of the Fang decided that Jaune Arc, Hero, Peacemaker and Tactical Genius was a more useful human to ally with than the, quote "Flaming Bitch who managed to kill off our brothers and sisters in a train that didn't even breach Vale." Unquote. Probably didn't also help that the faunus on the train were the more violent, radical, and outspoken members of the White Fang either.

Still, even now, Arc and his New Fang were proving themselves useful. With the New Fang actually taking down Ozpin and Beacon, all eyes were on him; investigations on the Queen forgotten as of the moment. Jaune Arc was a shield, a wall, a bulwark, but for now, he was hers.

Arc had also managed to gain the support of both humans and faunus in his endeavor as well. Within the Fang, he had the moderates, with Adam's support, he swayed the neutrals. The radicals had either joined the New Fang begrudgingly or had fled to their respective leaders who now answered to her.

Just a few moves, Arc's death at the hands of the _oh so evil_ humans, a few placating, rousing words and the neutrals and some moderates were as good as hers. Given the strong support by the humans of Vale, there were also significant chances of them siding with the Fang as well.

Vale, Beacon, the New Fang were hers, Arc simply needed to die, and Ironwood's convenient forces upon Vale's doorstep seemed eager to please.

Still, at the same time, she stood to gain a lot less should Arc and the White Fang fall against Atlas. Given that Arc was likely to spare Ozpin as he had done with the others, the Vale Council would simply be able to reinstate itself within a fortnight should Ironwood succeed.

She had several options. She was confident she could kill Arc at her leisure, but the question was, when?

Kill him now before Ironwood makes his move? Ensuring the defeat of the New Fang but also chaining Vale under the control of Atlas? Ironwood knows the Queen exists, and with the Fang gone, she'd have little in the way of support should, no, _when_ the Tinman and his allies go after her.

Assist Arc to triumph over Ironwood? Faunus Revolutions would spring up all over Remnant like the plague. She'd easily be able to claw her way to a position of authority in the chaos as she'd done many, many times before, but she was well aware Adam was out for her blood. Strengthening the Fang might also mean digging her grave.

At best, Arc would die, and the New Fang and Atlas would exhaust themselves fighting each other, leaving her to pick up the pieces.

And then there was the worst possible scenario. Nothing happening. Arc and Ironwood sitting down and opening negotiations. The New Fang and its near-bloodless revolution had the support and approval of a significant amount (the news was ambiguous over whether it was the majority and not a significant minority) of all of Vale's population. With Beacon and its staff hostage, it was not impossible nor improbable for Arc and Ironwood to talk peace. A legitimate New Fang would rob her not only of a fanatical, idiotic, cheap source of manpower, but would also mean order and security for Vale. This she could not allow.

"Let's see if we can keep some fires burning" the Queen finally said, smirk gracing her lips, "Let us watch and see if our goose has a few more golden eggs to lay."

* * *

Prologue End.

 **AN:** Welp. That's that. Hope this wasn't too much of a waste of time :D. Thanks for reading.


	2. Chapter 1: Phoenix from the Ashes

**Chapter 1: Phoenix from the Ashes**

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AN: Damn, guys. I am astounded and grateful at the amount of positive reception this story has been able to generate on both and SB. I pray that I will be able to meet your expectations for this.

Hoo boy.

As people have mentioned, I have a multitude of inspirations for this. Army-leading shows such as Code Geass and RTS's, stories that play with unreliable narrators and perceptions like MGSV and Ciaphas Cain, and even 's College Fool and Ryuugi of TGWP Fame.

I hope to one day make this story even a fraction as good as their work.

I'll be honest, I really tried my best with this chapter, but in the end, it's a cumbersome, but necessary one. I hope it doesn't disappoint too badly. Again, thanks for giving me a chance, and I hope you enjoy!

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"Little is known of Supreme Commander Jaune Arc's childhood, the mysterious figure who had swooped in from the mists of obscurity and changed the fates of humans and faunus forever.

What we do know is that he was born the eighth child; the only son of Alexander and Athena Arc. As befitting their Noble Arc Bloodline, Jaune's Seven Sisters, known to us by now as the Seven, were prodigies, trained at home before their schooling had even started. Later, the Seven would graduate with honors and distinctions from top combat schools all over Remnant.

It was expected that Young Jaune would follow in his sisters' and ancestors' footsteps, to become yet another peerless, noble hunter. Upon intensive study by Remnant's greatest historians, however, there was no mention of a Jaune Arc in the records of any combat school at all. No transcripts, no anything.

Neither were historians able to find anything of note within the ashes of the Old Arc Manor, where Jaune and his family were said to live. While all the histories agree that it was Jaune Arc who had burnt it down; records differ as to what his motive was.

Livy says Jaune had burnt down his ancestral home in passionate protest of how little his brave and noble bloodline did regarding abuse of the faunus during the time.

Hector on the other hand says that he burned it so as to symbolize his will never to return home until he had become a hero to his family.

Finally, there is the most widely believed motive, put forth by Acclaimed Faunus Scholar, Pinkie P. who blames an attempt on the fledgling Jaune's life by the Vile Schnee Family. Pinkie theorizes that the Schnee could see the future, and had gone after Young Jaune because all they could see were visions of their impending demise at the hands of the Arc Hero.

Still, whatever the reason, like a phoenix rising from the flames, does Jaune Arc first appear in the annals of history. Legendary Sword Crocea Mors brandished to destroy the world and rebuild it anew."

\- Velvet Scarlatina, _White Knight: a Biography_ , Chapter 1

* * *

Jaune was ready!

The afternoon sun shined lazily by the outskirts of Vale.

Looking at his backpack, he started crossing out items from his mental checklist. "Shirts packed? Check! Onesie? Oho, done and done! Boxers? Got em! Jeans? Meh, they never get dirty anyway."

Today was the day he was leaving for Beacon to become a hunter, a HERO!

He'd planned this out carefully. The Arc Family, while not particularly rich, were wealthy enough at least to ensure he had savings of his own. Mixing up his spending patterns here and there, his parents would never guess that he'd already secured all the necessary transportation going to Beacon, as well as transcripts from this ... uhh Hey Shong guy.

His parents and sisters were out on either work or their missions. The Arc Manor, a fairly large three-floor building in the outskirts of Vale, was completely empty, except for him.

Perfect.

Jaune shouldered his bag. Striding out of the room he had spent all of his life in, Jaune couldn't keep the grin off his face. No more would his parents and sisters keep looking down on him, insisting he become a gardener or an engineer instead.

"Hah, as if an Arc could be anything else but a Hunter!" he thought. "I wonder where they got those crazy ideas from."

* * *

 **Birth.**

 _Alexander and Athena Arc were proud parents._

In addition to being accomplished Behemoth-slaying Hunters, and Heroes of the Great War; Alexander and Athena now were first, and foremost, proud parents.

What reason didn't they have to be proud? Remnant was, for all its beauty, a hard place. To thrive, you needed to be even harder, and hard indeed their daughters were.

Weaned on tales of their family glory, all their daughters wanted to be heroes, and Alexander and Athena had accepted, offering them training while praying to any god that would listen that their daughters would not despise them for it.

The more one bleeds in training after all, means the less limbs one loses in battle.

Almost regretfully, Alexander and Athena had put each daughter through the Arc Style Training from Hell. The training had bordered on abuse, with both Alexander and Athena even going so far as to break their bones in order to teach their daughters how to rebuild them with Aura. Thankfully, the bonds of family had proven a fine metal that did not shatter under the pressure, but instead emerged stronger and firmer.

It also helped that after a couple of months, their daughters grew strong enough to fight back.

Alexander rubbed the burn scars on his cheek fondly. Shrouding her blade with fire, Rouge had come very close to killing him when they sparred.

It burned with her love.

Every single one of their girls ended up becoming master huntsmen, and aside from the Grimmlands, each had found new battlefields to join.

With the birth of Jaune, their first and only son, Alexander and Athena had given each other a knowing look. Each spouse put up a college tuition's worth of lien total on various bets: whether his first word would be papa or mama, what semblance he would eventually possess, what weapon he'd take a fancy too, you know, typical hunter parenting.

 _All of those wagers would end up unfulfilled._

* * *

 **Several Months Old.**

"C'mon Jaune, Papa! Pa-pa! PAPA! Pa-" cajoled Alexander Arc before the bitch his loving wife elbowed him in the face.

"Nonononono, Mama! Come to Mama!" giggled said loving wife, "Mama! Maaa-maaa!"

Baby Jaune looked up with his big (iddy-widdy) blue eyes to his parents as if he was struck with a moment of brilliance. A eureka moment, if you will. Both Alexander and Athena could practically see the lightbulb appear.

"Hero!"

"GODDAMMIT!"

* * *

 **Six Years Old.**

"Alright son." Laughed Alexander. "Today's the day you've been waiting for!"

He, Athena, and their favored son were in the fields near the Manor. After all, when it came to unlocking aura, the younger the better. It meant the child would grow up more used to manifesting his aura, and it left a bigger time period to hopefully unlock a semblance.

Jaune, giddy like that time he chugged a pot of Indigo's special dust-infused coffee, tried to force his face into a stoic mask just like he'd seen in paintings of Great Grandpa Julius.

This only made him look constipated.

Smiles in place, Alex and Athena had held both of Jaune's hands.

All seven times they had done this, each of their daughters had managed to bring forth their semblances on the spot. Rouge was shrouded in flames, Flowers grew by Viridian's feet, Sapphire had frozen all the dew on the grass, Indigo had managed to lift both of them with her mind, and Viola gained the ability to sense aura.

Nothing had happened to Sienna at first, but she caused a powerful earthquake when she tripped, causing her sisters to forever tease her about her weight.

In a completely unrelated case, Veteran Huntress Summer Rose, after successfully completing her mission was seemingly swallowed by the earth in a freak earthquake and was never heard from again. Huh.

As for Bianca... well, let's not go there.

In Jaune's eyes, both his parents' smiles were reassuring and happy.

On the other hand Alex would remark that his wife's smile that day was that of a lion salivating over its prey. Athy would mention that Alex smiled like Ozpin before the day's first cup of coffee.

Alex took offense to that. He wasn't some sort of monster.

With Jaune's first word being "Hero", the money from that bet ended up being added to today's prize.

What was his semblance going to be?

"Lightning." the loving father had bet.

"Shields." the caring mother had responded.

Without breaking their glares loving stares at each other, in perfect unison, they recited, "For it is in passing that we achieve immortality. Through this, we become a paragon of virtue and glory to rise above all. Infinite in distance and unbound by death, I release your soul and by my shoulder, protect thee."

What was once a field blew up. It was a crater now.

Historians would later ponder why said crater near the Old Arc Manor was named The Jaune Arc Crater #1. Said Historians, led by the Distinguished Faunus Scholar Pinkie P. would later attribute the hole's origins to the dark machinations of the Schnee, who wished to exhume the skeletons of the Arc Family for nefarious purposes unknown.

Pinkie P. may have been right.

* * *

 **Seven Years Old.**

Relieved that the explosion was a result of a large amount of aura being concentrated in one place ( _Jaune had some pretty large reserves_ ), and not because their son's semblance was to turn himself into a suicide bomber; Alex and Athy, Brave Arcs they were, soldiered on with Jaune's training.

Jaune had hit seven years. Scars long recovered from the sudden explosion so long ago, Alex and Athy practically dragged (not that he was unwilling) Jaune to the Arc Family Armory. They had waited for years to finally settle this goddamned wager and they refused to wait any longer.

Except to disable the traps that is.

It was a well-known fact that Hunter Families trap their estates, after all. The Arc Family was no exception, taking especial care to trap their armory, rigging it with enough red dust and mundane explosives to cause a small earthquake.

The Arcs would rather commit to the fire their heritage and weapons than allow them to fall to those who would abuse such power.

 _Still, the dust and activator glyphs had gotten pretty old_ , thought Alexander. The family would have to update them sometime in the future. Old, underpowered glyphs meant delays in the effects after all.

Taking great care to ensure they didn't all die in a blazing inferno; Athena waved Jaune in, "Go on Jaune! All the weapons the Noble House of Arc has ever fielded in battle for the last seven decades!" she exclaimed, bloodthirsty smile adorning her usual beatific face.

As an eager Jaune entered the Armory and began studying the weapons, Alexander walked up to his wife and fixed her with a stare that could kill, no, melt lesser mortals into pudding.

"Aureum Mors." Alexander intoned with a voice as sure as steel. For no man, especially his favored son, could resist the vaunted weapon of Gilgamesh Arc, a mighty greatsword capable of mecha-shifting into an assault rifle and splitting into two nigh unstoppable blades. Gilgamesh had felled the Legendary Grimm Enkidu in single combat with it; one blade keeping the beast at bay, the other blade carving a statue of him keeping said beast at bay.

"Argentum Mors." Spit Athena Arc, voice full of malice. Jaune was her son, of course he would pick the curved ghost blades of Artemisia Arc. Made from an ancient alloy long forgotten, they would hungrily take Aura from their wielder and with the proper dust, be capable of myriad effects. In the hands of a Master, these blades could go through matter and strike directly at the soul empowering the Aura. Sure, plenty of Arcs in the past had managed to cut off their own limbs by accident, but that was because they were _wusses._

Suddenly, a great bright light erupted from the room, shocking Alex and Athy from their argument. Hearts pounding like war drums of old, the couple rushed in the room; eyes taking in Jaune's glorious form. He had raised his blade and – Oh God was that Grampa Julius' training weapon?!

It is said that the screams of frustration coming from the Arc Manor still echo today in Vale.

* * *

 **Thirteen Years Old.**

For the first time in their lives, Alexander Arc and Athena Arc despaired, and no, it wasn't just because Jaune picked Crocea Mors of all things.

For their daughters, usually they'd start with conditioning their bodies to cope with a hunter's lifestyle. Splits, calisthenics, weight training, stamina, diet monitoring, practice weaponry, crocheting, typical pre-combat school routine.

After easing them in, they'd take them on "missions". More or less full week-long camping trips in the Grimmlands with objectives such as "Eliminate three Ursae!" or "Collect the flower that grows in the Deathstalker infested cave!". Unbeknownst to their daughters of course, they would hide in the background, keeping watch at night, and ensuring no one was swarmed by a sudden horde.

Of course, the best lessons are hard-earned, and so anyone who didn't bring enough food or forgot important gear usually rectified their mistakes next time.

Once they were capable of grunt-work, then they would move on to the serious stuff. Urban Combat, Counterterrorism tactics, Guerilla Warfare, Grimm Hunts, Advanced Crocheting, and the like.

Jaune, however. Jaune was different.

He was not lacking in determination nor willpower. He was, sadly, seemingly lacking everywhere else.

It had taken them twice the time to condition his body to acceptable fitness. Twice the time to learn basic survival skills. Twice the time to become a decent, middling swordsman. When he finally qualified enough for his little jaunt to the local Grimm-infested forest, he had not only gotten lost, but also exhausted his food supply, wiped his butt with poison ivy, and nearly died trying to eat a Beowolf.

The whole family was shocked.

Beowolves tasted horrible.

Every hunter worth his salt knew it was Boarbatusks that were good eating. (Peter Port was a family friend, and he would never be able to impress this lesson upon Weiss of the Schnee.)

Taking this as a distress signal, the Seven had all immediately filed for leave. Intending to take their beloved shota's training in their own hands.

* * *

 _Rouge and Sienna, the eldest, and second eldest sisters had gone West, to the harsh deserts of Vacuo as mere huntresses looking to do the most good they could. Rouge, a leader at heart, ended up as Vacuo Council's Head of Defense while Sienna became an Officer in the Vacuo Army Engineer Corps; both working in tandem to secure every damn portion of the desert against the Grimm._

Rouge and Sienna had been trying to drill basic 4-man hunter squad tactics in their brother's head. Then they ended up getting carried away spending weeks lecturing him in combined arms warfare, the roles hunters have in them, battlefield logistics, and which Kingdom had the best tasting MRE's (It was Mistral. Teammates had killed each other for them.)

Jaune had absorbed each lesson like a sponge.

"Alright Jaune, time to test what you've learned!" Rouge barked.

Sienna smiled and handed Jaune a scroll.

"This scroll contains the latest military simulations used by the Kingdoms, here's where we're gonna apply your training." Sienna said.

"This is Starcraft 2, with Kerrigan recolored to look like Ozpin." Bewildered Jaune had replied.

"It's used in the Officer Training Programs of Military Academies all over the Four Kingdoms!" Sienna insisted.

"I'm pretty sure the Valean Military doesn't make use of bugs and refer to itself as the Swarm." Jaune said, with a tad more defiance.

"Shows what you know, Jaune." Rouge interrupted, "Real life isn't like some sort of video game. This mil-sim has everything a budding leader has to know. Resource management, Unit Placement, Terrain..."

"Glynda Goodwitch is huge and has six legs in this picture!" Jaune began gesturing wildly, "She has flaming pincers and her unit class is called "Ultralisk"!"

"You can't just say that about a lady, Jaune!" Sienna had cried out in shock. When had her sweet brother become so rude?

Jaune was about to respond when he was hit by a white cotton glove in the face with such force that he fell down. The gauntlet had literally been thrown down at him.

"Enough talk, Brother!" Rouge had shouted, accepting a spare glove from Sienna, "Ready thine armies, and have at thee!"

* * *

 _Viridian had decided to remain in Vale. Possessing most of the arable land in Remnant, Vale's primary imports were food, and with the threat of Grimm, food was always at a premium. Since securing more land meant diving headfirst into Grimm Territory, Viridian instead resolved to make the most of what land they already had. Delving into agriculture, she resolved that one day, no one would ever go hungry._

"See Jaune? Look at how happy the plant looks, now that it's watered!" giggled Viridian.

"Uhh, Sis? That's not water." Jaune hesitantly responded. "I don't think you should use fitness drinks to water your crops."

Viridian pouted. "B-but Brawndo's a healthy drink. It's got what plants crave. It has electrolytes. Brawndo mutilates thirst and wears it as if it were a hat."

"Uhh, I mean yeah, it's great for rehydrating after training but..."

"But we are its children, and nature is our mother! If it's good for us, it must be great for mom too!"

Jaune gave a pointed look at Viri's garden. Viridian's semblance was the ability to use her aura to directly grow plant life, interestingly, when she used Brawndo to water her grown plants, her aura-infused plants would bulge and pulse like muscles.

Brawndo killed regular plants though, to Viri's sorrow. Still, to be fair, the veggies coming from Viri's Roided-Up Plants were delicious.

"Uhh, tell you what, Viri, let me try taking care of your garden for a while..."

* * *

 _Sapphire Arc, their little performer had become a true master of the arts in Mistral. An artist beyond peer, she was singer, composer, dancer and choreographer all in one. Aside maybe from Rouge, no one else seemed to understand how to feel the emotions of the people as well as she did, and while her sisters did battle against the Grimm with force of arms, her battle was in Remnant's hearts and minds._

"Saphy, I tell you, everyone's crazy!" exclaimed Jaune. He and Sapphire were taking a break from training and walking to the nearest arcade.

"Our family only has the best of intentions, and your welfare at mind, Jaune. You are aware of that." Saphy chided. "Besides, you really are improving you know."

"I know... Still, compared to when you guys were my age, I'm nothing." Jaune replied bitterly. "Everyone says so."

"Hah, and what does 'Everyone' know?" Saphy replied, smiling. "Years ago, it was I who held the title of weakest, til I had entered Beacon. Without a doubt, I can say that I had grown under their tutelage. Perhaps it is under Ozpin's guidance that your strength be proven, Brother. "

Jaune's eyes lit up. "Beacon, huh." He mused, as his face brightened.

"Excellent, Brother. Smiles ward off the Grimm you know. Cheer up!" Saphy said as they entered the arcade. "Now come, Jaune, I had heard you were good at this Dance-Dance-Revolution..."

* * *

 _Finally, the Scholar Twins Indigo and Viola were heads of their own research divisions in Atlas. Indigo, the colder_ (warmer among family, mused Alexander _) twin understood machine more than man. Above all, Indigo understood man's limitations, and where man was weak, machine was strong, and with it, man could accomplish more than what he was capable of._

 _Viola, on the other hand_ (Smiles and sunshine on the outside, quiet and sleepy at home) _believed more on the infinite potential of man. Remnant's foremost expert on Aura Studies, while her personal research on the soul hasn't been put to practical use yet, her studies on aura together with Indigo's research provided great breakthroughs on weapon forging, allowing for the creation of alloys that would allow more efficient infusion of Aura to strengthen blades and fortify metal._

Viola was shaking Jaune so hard it felt like his brain was rattling around his skull.

Viola had dropped by to renew the glyphs used in the Manor's fortifications and traps. However, when she heard of Jaune's recent life (Men were simply the bones of their swords, after all) choices, she had instead confronted him and hounded him for the past few hours.

It appears the Armory traps would never be renewed.

"Crocea Mors? Crocea Mors?! Whyyyy?!" cried Viola, actual tears in her eyes.

Not that Crocea Mors was a bad weapon. Its edge had remained sharp since time immemorial, never rusting or deteriorating. Even up til now, nothing had ever managed to actually pierce its shield.

It's just that within the Arc Armory, so many more weapons were capable of the same thing, and more, with better Aura Infusion to boot. The Twins had made a couple of them, after all.

Viola had stopped shaking Jaune now; settling instead for weeping quietly on his shoulder. Jaune figured he should probably pat her back or rub her shoulders comfortingly; except he couldn't move his numb arms.

Still, he really should have shut up.

"I don't think Crocea Mors was a bad choice. I mean, aside from the shield, it doesn't have any complicated transforming parts, so it should be a more reliable weapon for long missions in the field." Jaune reasoned.

Jaune really should have shut up when Viola had stopped shaking and become deathly still, but hey, he literally couldn't feel anything below his neck at this point.

"I mean, could you imagine if I had something as dumb as a sniper rifle that turned into a scythe? Think of how many parts would wear and tear. Think of how many times I'd need to perform maintenance on that thing. Any part on that thing breaks, it probably wouldn't even be able to transform anymore."

"Why would anyone use a dumb weapon like that?"

* * *

 _Somewhere around the world, Ruby Rose felt like pummeling the hell out of any blonde she could see. It would be the first, and only time she would ever beat her Sister, Yang Xiao Long in a no-holds barred spar._

* * *

"Ghkghkghk, Viola, hey! Let go!"

He really should have shut up. Viola had frozen in place, and his vision was really starting to fade now.

"Oh dear! Jaune, here, let me get you out!"

Indigo was home! Jaune could feel warm blood start flowing around his body again, as Viola was pried off and haphazardly thrown aside like a banana peel. Oh thank you, God, thank yo-

Cold hands gripped his shoulders tight, again.

"Indy?!"

"Why Jaune? Why would you pick Crocea Mors?!" Indigo cried, actual tears in her eyes.

* * *

 **Fifteen Years Old.**

 _Bianca Arc rarely spoke. Dressed always in an immaculate white suit, no one, not her teammates nor her family could ever remember a time when her suit was dirtied. Regardless of where she was, whether she was standing in the middle of the desert, or ripping Grimm to shreds, nothing was able to touch her._

 _Nothing._

 _No one, save maybe for her parents actually know what it is she does, but the perceptive Viola believes it has something to do with the Queen Chess Piece she likes to play with when she believes no one is looking._

Jaune was asleep, observed Bianca.

Gently caressing her younger brother's head, she bade him "good night", before leaving his room and rejoining the rest of the family.

Jaune was fifteen years old now, and he was different from the rest of the family. She could hear her sisters and parents argue over what was to done over Young Jaune.

"He's incredible!" boasted Rouge, "He beat the crap out of Ironwood's Pet Schnee in nearly every scenario, every sim. He'd make an incredible general one day!"

"He beat us too, you know." Remarked Sienna.

"The orchids!" shrieked the largely-ignored Viridian. "He makes them bloom! The Natural Order Itself cries Its approval."

"It doesn't make sense." Came the sophisticated tones of Sapphire. "He picks up dancing, whether it be in today's modern styles or yesterday's classical steps, as if it were what he was meant to do. Tis completely at odds with the abysmal grace he usually demonstrates in battle."

"Choice of weapon aside." Remarks a Grimacing Indigo. "He possesses fine tactical sense. He seems to instinctively understand weapons and their capabilities, and react accordingly."

"Whether or not he has the capabilities to react effectively, is the problem." Counters Viola. "His reserves are impressive; somewhat more impressive than any of ours were at that age, yet it is moot. Reserves, weapons, and tactics all mean nothing without the skill to back them."

"And that itself, is the crux of our dilemma." Thundered the stentorian tones of Alexander Arc.

"Jaune has nothing more to prove. None here can question his dedication nor his zeal. His spirit is that of a True Arc, and I am proud of him, but..." Alex frowned. "For all his talents, his skill in battle is lacking."

"Are you sure, Alex?" Athena questioned. "Jaune, as he stands now, may still prove to grow into a decent hunter should he continue his training."

"'Decent' hunters end up dead or maimed, Mom." Rouge spits. There was after all, pretty damn good reasons to beware _any_ active hunter that survived past their 30's.

"He also failed Signal, even under your instruction." Adds Sienna.

"I also noticed that you said the word 'decent', Mother." Remarks Sapphire with a sharp look. "Since no one plans to address the so-called elephant in the room, allow me."

"Jaune cannot be a Huntsman."

Only murmurs of assent rose from the table.

"As he is now. He'd only barely pass Beacon."

"He's had plenty of opportunities to unlock his semblance, and still, nothing."

"... huge aura reserves, but he can't use em..."

"... no other weapon seems to work! Why does Crocea Mors..."

"I, for one, am simply glad he didn't manage to blow up the Manor yet..."

"...ne's clumsy but not that clumsy. Give him a little credit..."

This outcome did not surprise Bianca. Nothing seemed to, anymore.

It was obvious, Jaune had potential to conquer the peace. He could pick any trade to learn and excel in it. If he still wanted to become a hero, he could always enlist as a general. There was always a demand for cunning officers within the military.

They had enough hunters, there was no sense in throwing Jaune's life away.

Surely, the Arcs had sacrificed enough to let one of their own enjoy the peace they'd fought for, right?

Everyone seemed to think so.

Bianca didn't.

She twirled her Queen Piece.

* * *

 **Seventeen Years Old.**

"Hah, as if an Arc could be anything else but a Hunter!" Jaune thought. "I wonder where they got those crazy ideas from."

He was going to be a Hero.

One day his family had stopped his training, and told him it was alright.

They'd be happy even if he didn't become a hunter, that they were already proud of all the effort he'd put in.

They had reasoned that people didn't have to be a hunters to be heroes.

Jaune agreed, then declared the only way _he_ could be a hero was as a hunter.

Months had gone by, his sisters' urgings to quit becoming less and less frequent.

Jaune had refused to give up, and continued to train even as his parents had shrugged and shook their heads.

 _Well, if he wasn't going to learn here, then..._

Jaune had entered the Arc Family Armory.

Hmm, that was weird. It's like there was something he was supposed to do before entering.

 _Meh, probably not important_ , thought Jaune, as he shook his head clear of distractions.

No matter how many times he'd seen the Armory, it never failed to evoke his feelings of awe.

Before him was the reason why he wanted to become a Hero.

Armors, and weapons, polished like mirrors, were lined up to his left and right, complete with little shrines containing pictures of their wielders and records detailing their accomplishments.

The records varied. Some had journals, old scrolls, old computer hard discs, others were compilations of newspaper clippings detailing their exploits. The older shrines even had tapestries and stained glass!

But the one thing they all had in common were the "Thank You" notes.

No, Jaune didn't want to become a hero for the recognition.

What struck him was that each note written meant that his ancestors were able to help someone.

"Thank you for saving my son!"

"Thanks for saving my little girl!"

"My village is safe because of you!"

"Surely, as long as the Arc Clan stands, humanity will be safe."

In the past and even now in the present, having an Arc nearby meant that sons would be returning to their parents, and that husbands would be returning to their wives.

"While there is an Arc that bears arms, there is still hope." Another note had said.

Years ago, he had read every single "Thank You" note there was in this room.

Hope. That was the heritage Jaune wished to live up to.

Gaze unflinching, he had walked straight across the hall, ignoring the glint of the powerful weapons to both his sides.

He had already made his choice years ago.

Crocea Mors lay near the end of the room, not quite neglected, but put aside anyway.

Crocea Mors wasn't as shiny as the other weapons, and held no gimmicks, no chamber with which to infuse dust in, no amplifiers to inject aura into.

The only thing Crocea Mors could be was itself.

Jaune Arc looked into Crocea Mors and could only see his reflection.

What better weapon could there be for Jaune than this?

The hilt felt comfortable in Jaune's hand, almost as comfortable as the sword felt sheathed on his hip.

"Looks like it's just you and me now, buddy" Jaune smiled.

Jaune turned around and faced the weapons, no, the hearts of his ancestors.

Arcs never go back on their word.

"One way or another, I'm going to Beacon" Jaune declared, "and I will be a Hero!"

 _He had no idea how horribly right he would be._

...

...

 _There's something really important I'm forgetting._ Thought Jaune.

* * *

"Well done, Little Brother." murmured Bianca to the wind, as she spotted her brother, pack shouldered, sword sheathed, leave the Manor.

Bianca was perched on one of the highest branches of the trees overlooking the estate, musing whether or not her brother would have the balls to actually run away.

She had, after all, ensured that there would be no one to stop her brother from leaving home.

This was all her doing, after all.

A seemingly-careless word had her brother find Hei Xiong and a source of false transcripts.

A strategically-placed newspaper had Rouge and Sienna rushing back to their posts in Vacuo.

A little gossip had sent the rest of her sisters and parents scurrying all about Remnant.

 _It was scary how much power words held_ , she thought.

It was still several months before Beacon's Academic Year would begin; definitely a lot earlier than what Jaune originally planned, but a simple suggestion of sightseeing around Vale was adequate enough to inspire him to plan some adventures before going to Beacon.

 _With any luck, he'd prove a thorn in her side._

Bianca had watched Jaune head off into the nearby town. He would be able to secure some form of transportation to Vale from there.

As soon as Jaune left, she jumped off the tree and headed towards the manor, lost in thought.

Yes, nothing indeed surprised Bianca Arc anymore.

And if Bianca couldn't be surprised, how much more so _her?_

Bianca twirled her Queen Piece.

 _Would this gamble pay off?_

Bianca was about to reach the door when all of a sudden, every instinct in her body _screamed_ for her to get away.

She had barely managed to jump back before a mighty explosion obliterated the manor, and the spot she was just standing on. While she dodged the blast; the force from it still flung her back some considerable distance away.

For the first time in awhile, Bianca Arc was surprised.

Various scenarios flashed through Bianca's head.

 _Has the Queen found me?! No, I would already be dead. It can't be the Fang, I would've noticed. With blasts of this much strength, it could only be the explosives rigged within the armory! Betrayal from within the Family?! Impossible!_

 _Unless..._

 _Jaune never disabled the traps_ , she realized. The boy, as he was wont to do, would be too absorbed fantasizing about his sword.

It had started with mighty explosions, glyphs, red dust, and explosives joining together in a cacophony of fire, throwing the Manor and its environs in flames. Mighty fires had turned century-old wood and memories to naught but ash.

 _I wonder where we're going to move to now._ Bianca couldn't help but muse morbidly, as she desperately fled from fiery death.

Still, despite the loss of their ancestral home and priceless relics, Bianca couldn't help but smile a toothy grin.

Yes, nothing surprised Bianca Arc anymore, except maybe for Jaune.

And if Bianca could be surprised, could he perhaps surprise _her_?

She put the Queen Piece back in her pocket.

 _Perhaps this gamble would pay off after all._

"Godspeed, Little Brother." Bianca whispered, dodging a piece of debris that was once their roof.

"It's all up to you now."

* * *

Chapter 1 End.

AN: God, that was hard. Well, at least the story is rolling now. If you were disappointed with this chapter, I offer my sincerest apologies. I had to justify the origins of Jaune's skillset and tried to keep it in touch with canon as much as possible.

Jaune at this point is probably just as strong as Vol.3 Canon Jaune. I'd rate him stronger than the average mook, but probably about even with Cardin. He probably won't get much stronger than that throughout this story.

Also, I've taken some liberties with the story's timeline, as canon barely gives any exact dates. As you may have guessed, Bianca's interference will send Jaune off to Vale much, much earlier.


	3. Chapter 2: The White Rider

**AN:** Well, uhh, so far so good? This chapter was honestly a little rushed because I ended up getting sick, and cramming this so I could make good time. I'm sorry.

 **This chapter contains spoilers for RWBY Volume 3.**

* * *

 **Arc of the Revolution**

 **Chapter 2: The White Rider**

* * *

"We thought we were goners.

The Red Woman and her two lackeys took us by surprise. One of them had something that screwed over with our eyes. We began seeing shit that wasn't there, and one by one, our patrols went silent.

They managed to sneak right into the center of camp and take on Boss Adam and the LT. We figured it was the same _human_ s that wanted us to work for them just yesterday. Well, hell nah did anyone in the camp wanna die for some messed up human cause, and the Boss told the bitch off.

Now, we weren't stupid. Nearly whole camp was listenin' in when she gave her speech about needing us and shit. Nothin' changed, she still needed us, but it seemed she wanted to skip the refusals and head straight to killin' the boss.

Well, she was _not_ leavin' witnesses. We were a small group, the rest of the Fang wouldn't even notice we were gone. She was tougher than the boss. She might've gotten us all, if _He_ didn't show up.

Ohh yeah, you know who I'm talkin' about.

We were ready to kiss his feet but back then we were high on the _humans are enemies_ shtick.

If I coulda done it all again, I woulda began worshipping the ground he walked on.

I mean seriously, night was clear but when he arrived, it _stormed_ man. When he raised his sword, lightning struck, like _holy fuck_. Some of our more wounded guys said their wounds started closing up, and the kitchen dudes said water turned to wine when he bust in.

Jaune _Motherfuckin'_ Arc bust through the flames, tramplin' the dark-skinned chick like she was roadkill. He was shining, _man_ , like one of them heroes from the stories! Flutterin' cape, shining white armor, a shining white sword and shield, an' shining white aura. _Damn_ , even his white horse had white aura!

I mean, where the _fuck_ do you even get a horse with aura?!"

-Excerpt taken from _Journal of a Fang Mook_ , by Wolfe Grey:

* * *

Jaune was _fucked_.

"Help! Help!" screamed the green-hooded woman. Pointing a finger at the quickly retreating Jaune, she yelled, "He's taking my horse! He's taking my Albus!"

Bystanders began rushing after him, but he was already too far away.

"I'm sorry!" Jaune screamed back in reply. Reaching into his pockets, he threw his wallet at green hood, who, in her surprise nearly fumbled the catch. Most of his savings were in there, surely it had enough cash to pay for a horse, right?

"I really, really need to get out of here! I'm sorry!" shrieked Jaune as he rode away. Albus the Horse galloping away, until both horse and his rider had disappeared in the distance.

The green-hooded woman was fighting back tears. Albus was her stalwart and loyal companion. She had used her powers to give the horse aura, and had shared her own food with him every time they had ended up stranded in the wilderness.

Only for the horse to abandon her for some stupid, white-armored, blonde horse thief.

She had thought Albus a better judge of character than that.

She was passing by a small little farming town on the outskirts of Vale to resupply and maybe grab a bite to eat. Stopping at a small cafe, the green-hooded woman was halfway through her vegetable stew when she heard the clopping of hooves.

Taking her staff, she had run outside only to find her saddlebags on the ground. Her noble steed was being ridden away by a white-armored blond boy.

For all the power bequeathed to her; she couldn't stop her friend being taken from her. Albus and the thief were just too far away from her now.

They were gone. She had let out a sob. Looking at what was in her hands; she saw a wallet of simple leather and decent make.

She didn't have much in the way of money. Whatever lien she had, she'd obtained doing odd jobs and usually spent them all on food and travel expenses.

 _I suppose I should just be happy he didn't leave me in town without anything._ She thought bitterly.

She opened the wallet and her eyes grew wide.

 _There's a lot of money in here!_ she realized. _This man must've really been desperate to leave._

A scruffy, lazy sounding voice to her back shook her from her reverie.

"Excuse me, miss, but you look like you could use some help."

She had turned to get a better look at the voice's speaker.

The speaker was a sharp-featured man with dark spiky hair and red eyes. He wore a tattered red cape, a gray dress shirt with a long tail, and black dress pants with matching dress shoes.

He reminded her of a crow.

He stunk of alcohol.

Most worryingly, he also carried what seemed to be a large sword at his back.

Previous thoughts forgotten, she had narrowed her eyes. The aura levels the man possessed were that of a veteran hunter, and the way they flared meant that he was expecting a fight.

 _Could this man be after me? No. If he were, he had a chance to strike while I was distracted. Still..._

She held on to her staff tighter. Her eyes began to glow as if they were wreathed in fire.

The drunk must've noticed her suspicions, as he'd smiled, and opened both hands placatingly.

"Now, now, miss. Let's not do anything too hasty." He had said. Smile still plastered on his mouth even in the face of imminent violence.

"Who are you?" she had coolly inquired.

The man put one hand at his hip and the other slicking back his bangs.

"The name's Qrow. Qrow Branwen. And you are?"

She had hesitated, then removed the green hood obscuring her features.

The woman had a pretty face; brown eyes, brown hair, and tanned skin.

"Amber." the woman had said. "My name is Amber."

Qrow grinned.

* * *

 _This horse was amazing_ , thought Jaune. _He'd been galloping hard for hours, and he wasn't even breathing hard._

Evening had begun to fall. In one or two more hours he'd be in Vale.

As the cold began to seep in, he'd taken a cream-colored cloak with a hood from his pack and worn it, pulling the hood over his head.

With the panic wearing off, it was in that moment Jaune realized just how much he fucked up.

Jaune had felt the tremors earlier, remembering what it was exactly that he forgot to disable when he entered the armory.

Looking back at the direction of the Arc Manor only proved his suspicions right.

He had seen the smoke, and boy was there a lot of it.

Jaune was so _fucked._

If his parents and sisters could see him now, they'd kill him, or worse, stop him from being a hunter.

Breaking into a mad dash, Jaune got into town in no time.

It was a peaceful place; a simple farming town. Several retired, but still competent hunters lived within the town's walls. There were few cars, and Vale was only hours from there, so old fashioned horse-drawn carriages were still in use.

Jaune's original plan was to wait until he could hop on the late afternoon bus to Vale.

Now, his only concern was to get away from here ASAP.

Nearly everyone in town by now had seen the smoke from the Old Arc Place, and no doubt, his family was rushing back home.

He thought about the stuff he probably ruined. Arc Heirlooms going back from before the Great War, Rouge's game collection, the Twins' library, Mom's china collection, Viri's rare plants...

... His faunus porn mag collection.

Cat faunus licking milk from bowls, rabbit faunus savoring carrots...

Jaune bit back a sob. Those were rare.

No! Hell no! Hell fucking shit, no! He was _not_ giving up his dream of being a hunter. He'd already burned his house for it, damn it.

No way was he waiting for a ride; his family would be there as soon as they got word of it! Viridian had probably felt her plants die and was rushing back screaming bloody vengeance!

Spotting a horse tied to a post... well...

 _Shit._ Thought Jaune. _I'd just stolen a horse from a poor old lady._

I mean, sure, technically he'd paid for it, but that green-hooded woman had seriously looked like she was about to cry.

 _I'm sorry, lady._ _I'll make it up to you someday, I swear!_ Thought Jaune as he rode through the woods.

Jaune did not notice the red, nearly pink eyes tracking his every movement.

* * *

 _Something was very, very wrong._ Jaune realized.

Blowing up his house and stealing a horse aside, the day had been great. Nice and sunny.

But now? Now, he couldn't even see the sun. A fog this thick would've been in the news.

It was 6 in the evening, and he should've arrived at Vale by now.

While it wasn't the afternoon, there should still be some sun up. Everywhere he looked, he could only see a dull white fog.

Even the horse, _Albus was it?_ Seemed on edge, and he'd been well-behaved all day, even as he stole him from his owner.

Something about the fog seemed to have him spooked. His mighty galloping had turned into a slow trot.

Save for the clopping sounds of Albus' footsteps, Jaune could hear absolutely nothing.

 _Wait –_

 _Wait he could._

Jaune froze. He knew this sound.

 _Crying._

There by the side of the road, was a crying little girl with bluish-green hair, curled up beside a fallen bicycle.

Warning bells began ringing in his head. _Something is off!_ Their chimes had rang.

Cold sweat began dripping down Jaune's cheeks. His palms began itching underneath his gloves.

Jaune knew this feeling.

Back when his parents were still training, or attempting to, at least, he would feel this way every time there was danger nearby.

Alexander and Athena laughed it off, calling it paranoia.

Jaune had called it a survival instinct.

Narrowed blue eyes peered left, then right.

There was a threat near this road.

Most likely Beowolves. They were small and insignificant enough for Beacon to ignore while they stalked through the roads in between settlements.

Despite his instincts screaming to take Albus' Reins and run, Jaune couldn't.

He needed to be a hero right now.

He needed to get the girl out of here.

Keeping one hand on Crocea Mors' hilt, he dismounted from Albus.

Eyes still darting to his sides, Jaune walked up to the fallen girl and knelt; offering his hand.

* * *

CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG!

Had he not been expecting it, the rounds would've knocked Jaune out cold.

The moment his outstretched hand reached the girl, who was eager to take it; he had seen a cloud of dust rise as if someone just kicked off the ground.

He had barely managed to grab his shield and duck under it before he heard the distinctive clang of bullets ricocheting from his shield.

"Fuck!" Jaune swore, his voice high, then instantly regretted it. He had to remember his family's advice – never show anyone, especially if they were your enemy, that you were at a disadvantage.

Then again, if your enemies thought you were a bigger threat than you actually were, chances are they would just hit you with their deadlier attacks and tricks.

The mist was gone. The girl was gone. There wasn't even an outline of the bicycle on the ground. _Hell, this wasn't even the road to Vale!_

Jaune grit his teeth. _Illusions._ He'd just been suckered into an ambush by a bandit.

Peeking out from behind Crocea Mors' shield, he regarded his enemy.

She had dark skin and striking emerald hair. Designating her as "Revolver", she had stopped for awhile to reload, and Jaune had pegged her as a mid-ranged combatant due to her weapons and agile build.

The worst possible match up for him.

Crocea Mors was a solid and dependable weapon, but it was still mostly a defensive one. Given Jaune's lack of talent and ferocity in combat, any wins, whether against Grimm or sparring partners, he had ever been able to achieve had been through one thing only.

Attrition.

Jaune had greater aura reserves than most hunters-in-training his age. Sometimes, his reserves were even comparable to fully-fledged hunters!

Against brawlers, Jaune simply held his ground and tired his enemy out. His heavy armor giving him the needed weight not to be pushed back after catching blows on his shield.

Body covered behind his shield, Jaune would then just back them into a corner and stab.

But he never managed to win against opponents who could fight at a longer range than he could. With the proliferation of mecha-shifting weapons, that meant everyone.

 _Why did everything have to also be a gun._ Jaune complained.

Emerald Revolver could fire her weapons, then retreat to reload. Rinse and repeat. He'd never be able to close the distance.

Jaune grit his teeth. Only one option left then.

 _Retreat!_

He had to lose them. Turning back to Albus, he – Someone was running towards him!

Jaune could only assume this silver haired fighter, - _There's something about his legs_ , - was a friend of Miss Emerald Revolver over there.

"Fighter" had leaped towards him in a perfect flying kick.

Had Jaune seen this as a bystander; he would've admired the man capable of such an eerie, picture-perfect flying kick.

Now, he wished this guy would go fuck himself.

Leaning forward and raising his arm again, he caught the kick on his trustworthy shield.

CLANG!

"Gah!" Jaune was thrown on his back, added weight from the armor doing little to nothing.

 _Get up, get up, get up or I'm so screwed._

Rolling to his side, Jaune was barely able to dodge getting slammed into the ground by Revolver.

 _Shit, so she's good up close too!_

As Jaune thought things couldn't possibly get any worse, he spotted a glint of light in his peripheral vision.

Raising his surprisingly still pristine and unscratched shield again, he managed to deflect a perfectly-aimed aura-infused arrow.

If this arrow could pierce through aura as he suspected; he would've been shot in the gaps between his armor already.

Jaune mentally bumped the archer up to Threat #1.

Jaune had focused his eyes at the cloud of dust very, very quickly approaching him. His latest assailant was a woman with the darkest hair he'd seen. She had fiery eyes brimming with ill-concealed fury, and she was wearing a scarlet dress that did nothing to hide her creamy, luscious, inviting legs that seemed to go on foreve... _Focus Jaune!_

"Red Arrow" had split her bow into two blades. Revolver and Fighter let her lead the charge.

His defense couldn't hold off even one of them, let alone all three!

Cloak in tatters, he had raised his shield to block a strike from Red Arrow, but as he did so, he left an opening for Silver Fighter.

A perfect kick to his head had sent him flying.

Glancing shots had whittled down his aura, but now he had finally taken a direct hit.

The kick had also removed the hood covering his face.

Jaune crashed to the ground on his back.

Experience of getting pummeled told Jaune his aura was deep in the red.

He was finished.

...

...

 _Shit!_

 _Shit, shit shit!_

...

 _Was there absolutely nothing he could do?_

Jaune tightened his grip on his weapons, trying to call upon his aura to do _something_ , anything!

Jaune could feel it. His body was enveloped in the warm glow of his aura, and it almost seemed like it was trying to reach out for something.

It felt like his aura was stretching itself, like it was a stiff muscle.

It reached out from beyond the forest and..!

And..!

and...

...

...

nothing.

...

...

Jaune shut his eyes. He was shaking now, he knew.

He at least would try not to cry.

...

...

 _nope, still nothing_.

 _What?_

Wondering as to why they hadn't done anything yet, Jaune opened his eyes.

His questioning blue eyes only met the bewildered dark eyes, confused red eyes, and shocked golden ones of his attackers.

Upon seeing his face, they had all just frozen.

Especially Silver Fighter. Seriously, the guy just had one leg raised and was staring at him slack-jawed.

 _Were these bandits expecting someone else?_

Loud neighing and sudden galloping sounds had made them all four combatants flinch.

A dazzling white light, approaching them like a shooting star, had appeared from behind the bandits!

 _ALBUS?!_

With a resounding crash, the Silver Fighter and Emerald Revolver were knocked aside like they were a bag of bricks, while the Red Archer had done a skillful dodge. Slowing down somewhat as he approached, Albus met Jaune's eyes.

Faced between certain death and a rough ride, Jaune made his choice.

Jumping on the horse with the last of his strength, Jaune held on for dear life as Albus charged into the darkness of the forest.

* * *

...

Several full minutes had passed by since two out of three of them were just knocked aside by what Mercury Black would later refer to as a "friggin' aura horse".

The three simply stood there, staring into space, nothing registering, til Mercury, as always, deigned to break the silence.

"That wasn't a maiden, but still more maidenly than you, Emerald." He said.

Emerald Sustrai halfheartedly slapped him.

Cinder Fall was furious, well, more furious than usual if the embers in the air were any indication.

She should've suspected something was up.

A genuine maiden would've been a challenge worthy of her. They said the maidens were able to manipulate the elements, the weather, and the seasons themselves!

She should've known that they were attacking a mere decoy. I mean, a maiden, travelling alone, on horseback this far out from decent civilization?

 _Preposterous._

Not only had they struck a decoy, but they'd also let him get away.

She closed her eyes. She needed to keep cool.

She'd recognized the pattern on that damned shield. Twin golden moons on white.

The Arc Family.

No doubt that boy was another one of Ozpin's little pawns.

Cinder wasn't a fool. There was no way an Arc would be so weak as to cower behind a shield and shiver like a plebeian. The whole time they fought, he didn't even use his sword.

No, that Arc Pawn was testing them. Finding out their weapons, their semblances, and their strengths. He certainly had the reserves and durability to do so.

They had literally bitten the bait, and fell for it hook, line and sinker.

Cinder had underestimated Ozpin. Of course the Beacon Headmaster would have a feminine, girly Arc decoy at his disposal.

And in the heat of battle, they hadn't noticed it until Mercury's kick had removed his hood.

There was no doubt in her mind that the pawn would be reporting her actions to Ozpin and his allies already.

"What an unproductive day." She sighed.

She had failed to secure Taurus' services, and now she had let a maiden through her grasp.

Despite failing to turn the Fang to her cause, as long as she had been able to secure the Fall Maiden's Powers, she could simply coerce them to obey her.

A blind man could feel it. Taurus had a soft spot for his kin.

Adam Taurus was the kind of man who would let hundreds of humans die as long as he managed to save one faunus life.

With the Fall Maiden's power, she could hold his pathetic band hostage. He would submit to violence, money, and dust; then they could finally proceed to the first step of the plan.

Cinder's eyes narrowed. She _needed_ those fanatics.

The Fall Maiden was gone, she needed to move on. If Ozpin was hiding Maiden Amber, then she would simply tear him apart soon enough.

While it would no doubt be cathartic to test the powers of Fall on those animals, she couldn't get everything she wanted.

She and her two associates would be far more than enough for Taurus' Fang.

"We go back to Adam" Cinder declared. The two children had ceased their bickering.

"And this time, we're not asking."

* * *

Jaune and Albus were breathing hard.

It had been hours since the encounter with Revolvers, Fighter and Red Arrow.

Paying no heed to direction, Jaune and Albus had but one destination in mind.

 _Away._

His family had thought Jaune to be pessimistic regarding his own skill; Jaune thought he was being realistic.

 _I was absolutely worthless in that fight_.

Jaune thought that he could at least get into Beacon, so long as the fake transcripts would get him a shot. Instead, here he was, the only male Arc getting his butt smacked around by a bunch of bandits and thieves.

What more if he were in the big leagues and fighting terrorists, anarchists, assassins and professional criminals?

 _All the more reason I should get into Beacon_ , Jaune thought.

Time was... hazy at this point, either it was an hour of riding or thirty minutes but eventually, the itching on Jaune's palms stopped.

 _They were safe!_

Jaune released a breath he didn't know he was holding.

Reaching a small stream, Jaune finally got off Albus.

Panting, the horse trotted over to the stream and drank. Behind the horse, Jaune simply sat back against the closest tree he could find and tried to catch his breath.

Adrenalin spent, relief hit Jaune's body like children with a piñata.

 _I'll just take a minute to rest._ planned Jaune.

Jaune wrapped himself in what remained of his cloak and shut his eyes.

It was warm.

...

...

...

..

.

"Gah!" Jaune yelped.

It was dark.

The sky was black.

Jaune blinked. He'd apparently been asleep for some time.

That, and apparently he had ridden farther than he'd thought.

Sleeping this out in the open was practically begging for Grimm to come get you. That, and it was likely that those three bandits were still out and about.

Jaune broke a nervous smile. He really did screw up again.

Using his scroll's flashlight feature, he regarded his surroundings. The trees surrounding him were red. He was in the forests of Forever Fall.

He'd really ridden farther than he thought.

Jaune clenched his fist, a small white light glowed from it.

 _Aura in the yellow._ His sisters always did tell him he recovered quickly, at least. The impromptu nap was able to replenish him somewhat.

Regarding his savior and companion, Albus looked as fresh as ever.

Jaune knew he was lucky Grimm didn't find him. Or even worse, those three.

Had the horse looked after him as he slept?

Speaking of those horse, that was an amazing feat Albus pulled off. He didn't even know animals could have aura, let alone use it like a hunter would a semblance.

He didn't notice it a while ago, but the horse's white aura almost reminded him of his own aura.

Jaune smiled, as he stroked the horse's mane.

"C'mon, boy, let's get out of here."

The horse seemed to nod its assent.

* * *

"We'll find her, sir. I swear it on my life." Declared the Lieutenant.

"Forget it!" snarled Adam Taurus.

He and a team of the Valean White Fang's most competent members had formed camp in Forever Fall in preparation for a raid on a Schnee Dust Company Freight Train carrying large shipments of dust. They'd take what they could use and sell the rest.

The mission was successful, and while they lost half the train, they got what they came for. Usually, muted sounds of celebration would be heard in the camp right now, if it weren't for a certain Blake.

Like Adam, Blake Belladonna was one of the White Fang's earliest members, and his personal student. She was like a sister to him, and he cared for her deeply.

She had just abandoned them in this morning's operation.

Tukson, now Blake. It seems many of the Fang's Old Guard were weaklings with no resolve and even worse loyalty.

No wonder they got absolutely nothing done.

Through violence, Adam's White Fang had at least secured a better life for the faunus in the city. Blake argued that the better treatment was because people feared retribution from the Fang and by extension, feared the faunus, but in the end, what of it?

At the end of the day, there was still better treatment for the faunus.

At the end of the day, it meant that hospitals would accept faunus patients.

At the end of the day, it meant that faunus workers would receive their well-earned pay.

At the end of the day, it meant that the faunus there wouldn't feel what _he_ had felt in Menagerie.

What was the greater evil? To protest for rights and equality, then simply allow the abuse to happen to his brothers and sisters? Or to rightfully avenge themselves on their enemies and halt the abuse forever?

Adam had chosen.

"Forget it. It's time I returned to Mistral and – "Adam stopped.

Fighting.

Gunfire.

Screams.

Sounds of fighting had erupted in his camp.

Adam had shared a look with his Lieutenant. Even with faunus hearing, they hadn't heard them approach at all.

 _The enemy was strong. None of the patrols had spotted them, and they were defeating the elite soldiers he had stationed outside._

 _A Hunter Kill Team? Had Ozpin finally noticed them?_

"What is this?!" Adam shouts, him and his Lieutenant bursting out the command tent; weapons at the ready.

"We could have gone to anyone for help, but we chose you, Adam Taurus." a sultry voice responded.

 _Her._ Beneath the mask, Adam's eyes narrowed, and in less than a second, he took in every relevant detail of his surroundings.

Cinder and her associates stood at the center of his camp, behind them were the bodies of his elites, some dead, and most hanging on by a thread. They needed medical attention.

Adam observed the rest of the camp. The ground was blackened from explosions. His elites had broken bones and bruises, while others had gunshot wounds and lacerations.

These two sets of details spoke volumes about his enemies' combat styles and skill, and skilled they were, if they were able to leave so many alive.

Cinder Fall held her swords casually. Her associates Emerald and Mercury knelt by her sides, each holding a suitcase.

 _Yet, there's something different about her_ , Adam felt.

Last night, she was brimming with confidence, like her grand victory was already assured. Even when he said no to her offer, it was like she merely felt it was a setback than a refusal.

"Our plan will be beneficial to both of us," Cinder remarks, not letting go of her blades.

On cue, both Emerald and Mercury open the suitcases, revealing a large amount of lien and high quality dust.

"Or one of us." Cinder finishes.

Money and dust were always short in the White Fang, while these would no doubt help, maybe sustain operations for a year or two; they were no replacement for zeal.

And Adam could feel it.

There was a sliver of desperation in Cinder's eyes, like she expected to be in a better negotiating position, or to have more power to threaten him with. While her grip on her blades looked casual, she was holding onto them quite tightly.

Both Adam and Cinder knew it.

He could beat her, and she could lose.

Adam had no delusions regarding chivalry and honor. There was no shame in doing what you had to do to survive. Had Cinder pointed a superweapon at him, or had him outnumbered, then perhaps he would consider accepting.

For the time being, of course. At least until he could bathe his blades in her blood.

As long as there was life, there was hope of victory.

Martyrs were useless, the countless dead faunus who died in Menagerie, in the Kingdoms, or under the hands of the SDC would attest to that.

"So, which will it be?" Cinder asks.

The hells would freeze over before he accepted her _human_ cause.

"You have tested my patience enough," declared Adam Taurus; Blush and Wilt drawn and eager for blood, "We are a force of revolution, not some organization for hire."

At his words, Emerald and Mercury, their usual levity forgotten, had snapped the suitcases shut and kicked them to the sides of the camp, away from the incoming battle. His ever faithful Lieutenant revved up his chainsword and awaited Adam's lead, as always.

Cinder merely sighed and closed her eyes in resignation.

"You will serve, Adam Taurus."

Cinder opened her eyes, and Adam had thought it ironic that such fiery hued orbs should be so cold.

"All will serve."

* * *

Jaune had finally found the road to Vale when his palms started itching again.

Looking around, he saw light from beyond the trees to his right.

That was fire! A forest fire?! He needed to get out of here!

Then he heard it.

Gunfire.

And not just any gunfire, but the same gunfire he heard from Revolvers' revolvers.

The hands holding Albus' reins tightened.

Those bandits were still out there, and they were probably attacking innocent people.

Jaune knew there wasn't much he was capable of, but...

What kind of hero would abandon innocents to die like that?

Resolve found anew, Jaune raised Crocea Mors high, and charged into the fires.

* * *

"I'm telling you, Qrow! We should help them!" exclaimed The Fall Maiden Amber to her scruffy-looking companion.

"And I'm telling you, girly, that as much as I wanna wreck those losers, I can't let myself be seen!" shouts Qrow back to his irritating charge.

There was also the fact that Qrow couldn't possibly take them all on, but he wasn't just about to admit it to her.

Seriously, the mission had been so simple. Take a stroll down Vale's picturesque forests, find that weird chick who liked to wear cloaks, _heh, cloaks are stupid, hic,_ and ride horses, bring her back to Ozpin, then get paid enough to never again be sober for the month.

Instead, he became a glorified babysitter looking for some horse thief in the middle of one of the largest forests in the continent. _Man this girl was persistent_. And ooh, just as his luck would have it, he runs into a fucking deathmatch between the White Fang and a group of ... hunters-in-training, from the looks of it.

His drunken mind had whispered that the red one with the nice legs might be the Queen, but he'd laughed it off. Surely the Queen was tougher than that, right? _hic._

Usually, he'd just sit back, put his feet up, take a swig from his flask and enjoy the show, but it seems little miss maiden was intent on ruining his day.

The Old Man probably gave the Four Maidens powers just so they would leave him alone, if the remaining three of them were just as annoying as this one.

"Stop daydreaming! Qrow, this is no laughing matter! Those _innocent people_ are being attacked by the White Fang!" Amber yells, pointing a finger at the melee.

Jesus, this girl's voice grated like nails on a blackboard to Qrow's inebriated brain. Qrow had half a mind to just knock the girl out cold. Ozpin wouldn't mind, right?

Argh, dammit, he wasn't getting out of doing this, was he?

"Alright, girly, you win, I'm stopping them." Qrow said, one hand lazily drawing his sword. "But afterwards, we're headed straight for Beacon, you hear me?"

"After, we've found my horse, per our agreement." bit out Amber.

Qrow was about to speak, before hard-earned instincts took over and he dove to his side. And not a moment too soon, as a bright light, like a shooting star, just launched itself towards the battle like a missile. Trees were being knocked aside in its wake.

"What the fuck was that?!" yelled Qrow, getting up quickly, all levity forgotten.

"That-that was my horse!" remarked Amber disbelievingly. "But in all our time together, he'd never been capable of such a thing!"

"Well, grab your stick, girly. This night's gonna get real interesting, real fast."

"I'll do one better." declared Amber, as she manifested the powers of Fall, her eyes glowing.

Taking aim at the horse thief's back, she fired.

* * *

It is said that thought travels faster than lightning itself.

That was truly the case here.

For Jaune Arc could indeed think while trying to outride lightning. His thoughts were thus:

 _Why is there lightning after me?!_

He also could've sworn he nearly hit a scruffy hobo and what looked to be the green-hooded woman from earlier, but why would they be here?

 _Gah, Jaune, focus!_

Albus was going so fast he could barely see in front of him.

But he could see the muzzle flashes coming from Revolver's revolvers. There was absolutely no doubt it was her.

Bidding Albus to dive at the green flashes, Albus dived.

* * *

The only thing that alerted Cinder that battle was joined was when a literal star had descended upon Emerald.

The impact had flung a screaming Emerald into the forest like a ragdoll.

Both she, and her opponent, Adam, as well as everyone else, had actually taken a moment to watch the spectacle.

A glowing white rider atop a horse, shining like a star in the night, emerged from the smoke.

Cinder's eyes narrowed. The Arc decoy had returned, but why?

That question was answered when the White Rider had raised his sword high.

Now Cinder's eyes widened.

Storm winds began blowing, fluttering his cape around most dramatically. Lightning began flashing again, almost as if it were about to strike him but just narrowly missing, and crashing into the ground as if they were grim warnings.

Cinder stiffened as Mercury gaped.

 _What's going on?! Were we correct this whole time? Is that Arc truly the Fall Maiden?! No! Has Ozpin found a way to transfer the powers to men? What is...?_

Cinder bit her lip. Emerald had been downed, and it seemed that the Arc rode to assist the White Fang. Looking past the Arc Rider, she had spotted more movement; more reinforcements.

She held the upper hand over Taurus in their battle, but now it appeared victory was to be denied her this day.

 _Retreat is the only option remaining._

She had to move quickly while the decoy once again drew everyone's attention.

Signaling Mercury to take Emerald, with nary a look back had the Queen withdrawn from the board.

 _For him to still possess such powerful pieces she had never even known he'd had, she had underestimated Ozpin._

* * *

"You know, for the Fall Maiden, you sure are a terrible shot." drawled Qrow.

"I-I can't get a clear shot!" reasoned Amber, "Albus was too fast and I was worried I'd hit the three hunters-in-training!"

"Whatever, you had your chance. We've got to go, now." said Qrow, his eyes moving back and forth.

"But why?" asked Amber, "There are only a few of them left! We can beat the White Fang and take back Albus!"

"No. That was before. This is now." declared Qrow, pointing his finger at several directions bordering the camp.

He could sense it. More and more White Fang Faunus were converging on this location.

It was clear that the White Rider was affiliated with the Fang, seeing as how he, a human rode to their aid. As more faunus came within sight, he also noted that the Rider didn't feel the need to escape, like he was welcome there.

Qrow had already doubted he could win against the bull with the red sword, along with the chainsword-toting wolf. Additional reinforcements and a totally unknown variable merely sealed the deal.

From the look on Amber's face, Qrow knew she understood it now too.

Amber lost the glow in her eyes, and nodded at him, face stony. They both turned around to leave.

He couldn't win this one, and Ozpin definitely needed to know about this. He'd heard the Queen was in talks with the Fang after all.

 _And for her to still have such powerful pawns he'd never even known she'd had... Shit, he had underestimated the Queen._

* * *

Adam had been losing, he had underestimated her!

And then, _he_ had arrived.

The noise from the battle and the distress calls sent by his men earlier had finally been bearing fruit. Fang reinforcements from other nearby teams, as well as his own returning patrols had been converging at his location.

And they had all arrived in time to see a shooting star crash down upon their enemies.

A White Rider, a _human_ , had dove in and defeated Cinder's vile illusionist in one fell swoop. He had raised his shining sword, and nature itself obeyed, bringing forth wind and lightning.

Like the cowards they were, Cinder and her remaining associate escaped while they were preoccupied.

It had been a few minutes since Cinder's disgraceful departure. The winds were calm now, and the lightning was gone, yet _he_ remained there, mounted and unmoving, as if he were a statue.

None of the Fang pointed weapons at him. Some were in awe or believed it pointless, while another portion he had to restrain from cheering on their mysterious savior.

The enemy of his enemy was only another enemy to eventually face, Adam believed.

 _Was this one another enemy too, then?_

Blush and Wilt, thirst unquenched, were in his hands as he approached the White Rider. His Lieutenant was, as always, following faithfully behind him.

The Rider's body and head were concealed by his cloak and hood. Any details within his sword and shield were too bright to make out at first, and now that the glow was gone, it was too dark to see.

As Adam approached, did the Rider dismount.

Both the White Rider and the Black Beast strode towards each other.

One man held a white sword and a shield, the other man held a blood-red sword and a black gun.

Sheathing the white sword into its shield-scabbard, the White Rider stepped forward.

Sheathing the blood-red sword into its gun-scabbard, so too did the Black Beast.

All were silent, the faunus gathered around watching the scene with bated breath, tension so thick, you could cut into it with a knife.

The White Rider removed his hood. Revealing his humanity, his blonde hair, and his clear blue eyes.

The Black Beast did not remove his mask.

The White Rider extended his hand, and with a wink, he spoke.

"Jaune Arc. Short, sweet, rolls off the tongue. Ladies love it. Do you know the way to Vale?"

* * *

Chapter 2: End.

* * *

 **AN:** Welp.


	4. Chapter 3: Porcelain Mask

**AN:** Dammit. I'm sorry for the late update guys. This chapter was difficult to write. Damn nitty gritty stuff. Every time I thought of something interesting I realized it was better reserved for future chapters. There was also the length and pacing, which I decided to just dump to hell with this chapter.

Also, despite my hatred of OC's, for the White Fang, it seems I have no choice but to add em, given that there's only 2 named characters (if you consider White Fang Lieutenant a name.) in it. Given the importance of the WF in this fic, I really do need to add them to accurately represent my interpretation of the organization. Still, I hope they're to your liking.

Again, I apologize for what will most likely be another boring chapter. Rest assured that next chapter is where the plot actually begins. Sorry, and thank you for trying me.

* * *

 **Arc of the Revolution**

 **Chapter 3: Porcelain Mask**

* * *

Just earlier that day, we were happy. Blake and Adam succeeded!

Even when they ran into an experimental Atlesian Spider Droid, they still emerged victorious!

Everything was going to go fine, or so I had thought then.

Only Adam made it back to the camp. Blake had betrayed us.

I-I didn't understand. None of us did.

I and Blake were different. She was talented, and trained by Adam, we all looked up to her, but I was just average, and joined the grunts like everyone else. We never really knew each other, but I know that we had the same origins. We were orphans taken in by the White Fang back when our flag was blue and our methods were different.

We were family.

Unlike her, I-we can still remember what it felt like to go hungry. A lot of the old members tell us about what Menagerie was like, and I shudder.

We would be dead if it weren't for our family, and she goes on and leaves us without a second thought.

How could she do such a thing? Family is really all you have in this cruel world.

While everyone else was packing, the LT pulled me aside.

I had a task to do. I wasn't particularly strong, but like the rest of our rank and file, I had my aura awakened, and, it was uncommon, but I knew how to work weapons. I had forged my own, after all.

I was to pass for a Huntress, and look for Blake.

It was serious, after all. Blake was one of our group's most trusted members, and she still knew enough of our operations to sabotage us.

I didn't want to believe it.

Adam thought it was a waste though.

Before we could finalize anything, though, we went on high alert. Someone took out the patrols.

It was the humans who came to make a deal with us a few days ago.

They were powerful, capable of going toe to toe with Adam himself.

All I remember was blaming her, the traitor. If she stayed, maybe we'd have more of a chance.

Then, when everything seemed darkest, _he_ came.

It was like a scene from a work of the old masters. My blood still pulses and my heart beats faster every time I think about it.

Horse reared, while he raised his shining blade in victory. He had a... a face I'd never imagined I'd be able to see in real life. The flames in our camp only serving to highlight his features, so refined, yet rugged, like he was a marble statue of a god incarnate.

Jaune Arc's silken hair and heroic cape were fluttering with his every decisive movement, against the wind and lightning. He had worn practical, gleaming armor, and the fabric of his clothes hung on his perfectly chiselled body.

He was beauty and strength married. Adonis and Hercules. The strength of a noble bloodline, with seraphic features, and as we would later learn, the heart of a hero...

I stifled a gasp at such inhuman beauty. It wasn't just I, nearly the whole camp just stared, transfixed at the sight of him like moths to the flame.

After he drove off our attackers with lightning, he had dismounted, and looked straight at me.

I felt my heart stop beating.

Only to realize that it was not me his smouldering gaze lingered on.

He took decisive, confident steps towards our Leader, Adam, while he sheathed his sword.

To our great surprise, Adam did the same.

They were both walking towards each other passionately, neither of their eyes left the other.

They both stopped, so close to each other they could probably feel the other's breath.

Then Jaune licked his lips, his mouth turning into a crooked smile so beautiful I felt a shiver go through my spine.

My nose was bleeding underneath my mask.

-Excerpt taken from the Private Journal of Olivine Tiresias of Team PORN

This excerpt has been shortened out, as the original continued on Jaune Arc's features for several more pages.

* * *

They were close, close enough that each of them could feel the others' breathing.

So close that Adam could feel the forbidden, hungry caress of Jaune's teeth.

Adam shuddered, tears pooling in his eyes, "No, Jaune, we can't keep seeing like this. It's wrong! I am a faunus, and you, a human."

Jaune replied back, voice husky, "No, Adam. How can something that feels so right, be so wrong?"

-Excerpt taken from 50 Shades of Arc, by Olivine Tiresias of Team PORN

* * *

"Jaune Arc. Short, sweet, rolls off the tongue. Ladies love it. Do you know the way to Vale? "

Jaune internally grinned. _Nailed it._

Everyone in the clearing seemed to remain silent. Save for a voice that whispered "he's not wrong."

Adam Taurus, renowned leader of the Valean White Fang, however, was not amused.

Adam was wary.

While both his and Jaune's blades were sheathed, Adam's hand never left his sword.

Adam's weapons being sheathed meant nothing to him.

He was a master of Iaido, quickdraws, his sleek blade would cut this _human_ apart at the first sign of treachery.

However, while he was on guard, this Jaune Arc... seeemed the opposite.

Jaune had openly revealed the presence and transformation of his sword and shield to what should be his enemies. Jaune had dismounted from his horse and stepped away from it, denying himself an easy avenue of escape.

Jaune's hands were away from his weapons, and instead formed them in the shape of guns, which he then pointed at him, while clicking his tongue, and winking.

Adam's eyes narrowed. For him to leave himself vulnerable while he was in the midst of his enemies, while maintaining an air of nonchalance...

That, and he was an _Arc._

This _human_ was strong, unbelievably so.

Cinder's disgraceful retreat only reinforced that conclusion.

Adam's grip on his blade tightened. To underestimate Jaune would mean death.

He had seen the awesome powers this man had displayed. With the amount of White Fang members clustered here, any victory Adam would be able to win would only be pyrrhic beyond belief.

Adam couldn't allow this situation to escalate.

With an almost imperceptible nod to his Lieutenant to stand down, Adam turned to Jaune.

His blue eyes held no fear whatsoever. Human he may be, but Adam was impressed.

The White Fang had, after all, started wearing these Grimm-like masks to evoke the feelings of dread man felt at the sight of the beasts of extinction. It was a statement, to leave them be, or suffer the same fate the Grimm would give them, only by their hands.

But this Jaune Arc? Cheerful even in the face of death?

 _Did he even fear death?_ Adam questioned, cold sweat dripping down his cheek.

Adam needed to use every ounce of diplomatic prowess he possessed.

"Why did you assist us?! " Adam measured his words carefully, or so he thought.

Paying no heed to the spittle spraying upon his face, Jaune simply replied, "Cause you guys were in trouble."

"You, a _human_ , would assist the White Fang? " Adam asked incredulously. Did this Jaune not know what they stood for? What they threatened to do to humanity once they achieved victory?

They would achieve equality, or superiority, at all costs.

"Yup." Jaune responded brightly.

"You-you do know what the White Fang is, right?" Adam had asked, incredulity rising by the second, subtlety be damned.

"Of course I know what the White Fang is. Do _you_ know what the White Fang is?" Jaune had questioned, eyebrow raised.

 _Is he mocking me?_

Adam's face darkened. The White Fang was Adam's life. He had been with them from the very beginning. He was in every protest back when the Fang was nonviolent. Now, he fought in the frontlines.

Damned human, how dare he presume to know what the White Fang was.

"What is the White Fang to you then?" Adam had responded, fury in his voice.

"Uhh... people, right? The White Fang are people." Was the response.

Adam took note of the fact that he didn't use the word "faunus", "faunus rebels", "animals", or "terrorists".

The very act of labelling a human as a human and a faunus as a faunus was a symbol of stratification. Some would argue that the root of the conflict between man and faunus was simply because one viewed the other as different. Was Jaune the same?

By referring to them as persons, as people, did this mean... that he considered the faunus people? He considered the Fang people? He considered them as equals?

The calm, seemingly accepting smile told him everything he needed to know.

Adam frowned. An idealist, yet ideals would not feed empty stomachs and bring back the dead. Ideals could not sway the people, the councils, and certainly not the Schnee.

Adam was aware that the vast majority of humans didn't hate the faunus.

No, the problem was that humans simply didn't care.

Humanity would wax rhetoric about how the faunus and humanity should join hands and usher in an era of peace, then go back home in gilded houses and safe communities, while faunus, mostly refugees from Menagerie, would go to the slums.

Why should the average human care, after all, if they never saw the abuses heaped upon his people, if it wasn't a reality to them? Out of sight, out of mind.

In the end, whether through philanthropy or through the edges of their blades and the barrels of the guns, as long as the faunus got better treatment, all was good for him.

And one of those solutions had proven results.

The human was trying to weaken their resolve! They had accomplished nothing without force of arms. Looking at the pensive Fang members to his sides, he knew he had to undermine this human.

"You mean to tell us you want us to throw aside our weapons? " Adam spit. Vicious grimaces had appeared on the faces of his comrades. Good, he was winning them back.

"What?! No! Of course not!" responded Jaune, genuine horror in his voice. "The world's a dangerous place. Do you _want_ to die?!"

 _Interesting._ Thought Adam. He wasn't as naive as he seemed, then. Someone who viewed the faunus as equals, and at the same time, was against their disarmament.

An idealist who wishes for peace, yet acknowledges the need to draw swords?

Still, what was in it for him then? Given that they tended to kill humans, they didn't succeed much in inspiring human sympathizers, and he already mentioned that he joined to help them for the sake of helping.

 _It doesn't make sense._

"So... what? You just go around, risking your life in battle, for no repayment whatsoever? "Adam grit out.

"Yeah, if I can." said Jaune simply, tilting his head a little.

Ah. Adam wanted to scoff. Another wannabe hero. Probably aiming for Beacon too. Fools concerned only for claiming glory on the battlefield. Eyes too high up the sky to realize how many they were trampling beneath them underfoot.

Nearly every "hero" hailed by the Kingdoms had earned their titles though the spilling of blood. The Nikos of Mistral produced Huntsmen with powerful semblances and entered the military. Vale's own Winchesters had claimed prominence spilling the blood of countless faunus in the war that had once exiled his people to Menagerie.

The Arcs? The Arcs were everywhere. Waging war with weapons, strategies, words, bribes, and even popular media now.

The word hero today just meant someone who was better at killing than everyone else now.

The Arc standing in front of Adam was just another psychopath looking for a battle. Killers whose only reason to fight was battle itself. Adam was sure of it.

"Why do you risk your life for strangers, then?" asked Adam, blade at the ready. Depending on his answer, Adam would attack. The talking had given him nearly enough time to fully charge up his semblance.

Adam's semblance was simple. He could charge and focus aura on his blade and release it all at once. Even kinetic energy striking at his blade would help it charge.

Whatever exotic powers this Arc had, he only needed one clean hit, and he would wilt.

That is, _if_ he got a clean hit.

Adam would have preferred not to have to fight such a powerful foe and put his subordinates at risk, but if he were to become an enemy, he may as well fight him now, while he had some sort of advantage.

Ignoring the threat of imminent violence, Jaune merely tilted his head in confusion, as if he was perplexed Adam was still asking him that.

"Because strangers are just friends you haven't met yet, right?" responded Jaune. "What's wrong with fighting for your friends? "

Adam Taurus, renowned terrorist leader, murderer, dust thief, and alcoholic could feel his mouth open, but as he attempted to speak, only strange, choking noises would come out.

It was a testament to his willpower he didn't just drop the sword then and there.

 _What the fuck?_

* * *

Jaune smiled. So far so good! He was going to Vale, and he wasn't going alone!

It seems after their leader, the red bullheaded guy named Adam got a coughing fit, a burly man pulled him aside and they had an impromptu team meeting then and there.

It was cool, Jaune would wait.

That Adam guy seemed strange though. He seemed to frown a lot into space a lot.

Eventually, though, someone literally slapped him out of it.

Adam, the burly guy, and the rest of the White Fang then began fervently began whispering to each other. They huddled up a bit, and then someone approached him to tell him that they were escorting him to Vale!

Really nice of the White Fang. He'd really expected a lot worse from what he heard was a simple faunus rights movement. Still, Jaune could notice that they all seemed wary of him. They were giving him a huge berth. Jaune shrugged. Of course they would, they were just attacked, after all.

Seriously, peaceful protesters, getting attacked by bandits and lowlives with aura? Of course they would be in shock. He'd even seen a few shuddering when he was talking with Adam.

When he thanked them, they'd just shrugged off and mentioned that they had business there anyway.

He was going to Vale with two people. The burly guy everyone seemed to refer to by the initials L.T., and an olive-haired, antlered faunus girl. The two had, for reasons unknown to Jaune, changed out of their White Fang attire, and now sported vests, hoodies, fatigues and pants with armor plate on.

With their weapons, a simple chainsword for L.T. and what seemed to be a rifle gunsword for the girl, strapped onto their backs, along with the gear, the two could almost be mistaken for hunters or hunters-in-training.

A great big smile was on Jaune's face.

Sure, he ended up burning his house down, and stealing a horse from a poor old lady, oh, and getting his butt kicked by (attractive) thieves and highwaymen, and lost in Grimm-infested Forever Fall, but this day wasn't so bad.

After all, he had the luck to run into the White Fang, right?

 _Today was definitely the day he was going to become a Hunter, after all!_

Oh, and he was finally going to make some friends! Holy crap, his mom would be so proud of him.

The rest of the Fang seemed to reorganize, then they started breaking camp, except for L.T. and the horny, antlered girl who, aside from their bags, also carried large sacks, then started approaching him.

 _Okay, Jaune, time to make a good impression._

"Hey, I'm Jaune." said Jaune, sticking his hand out in a friendly handshake.

The big guy simply stared at the outstretched hand, regarding it as if it was a poisonous snake. The girl on the other hand turned scarlet and began sputtering.

 _Huh, weird._

Lowering his hand, Jaune tried introducing himself again. "Umm. I'm Jaune. Jaune Arc."

"O-Olive." The antlered girl mentioned.

Fitting, Jaune thought.

Jaune was able to catch a glimpse of her brown eyes before she looked away.

"It's sh-short for Olivine. Olivine Tiresias."

"Well it's great to meet you, Olive!" declared Jaune, patting her shoulder eagerly, eliciting a squeak from the smaller girl. "I'm sure we'll be the best of friends!"

Like Adam, Olive had her mouth wide open while generating the same exact choking sound. Was that a faunus thing?

L.T. on the other hand, seemed content to stare unnervingly at him, breathing quickened with a sweating face. His hand began twitching for his chainsword.

 _This was going to be the start of a great friendship._

* * *

It had taken some slogging, but they had finally managed to reach Vale!

The trip had taken some time, but they were able to reach Vale just as the sun's early rays bathed the cities and the walls in a soft golden light.

Jaune felt his heart hammer in his chest. This was it. He just needed to drop by that Hey Shong guy's place to claim his transcripts, and he'd be another step closer to being a hunter.

The sight of walled, friendly, golden Vale alone made him feel that everything he'd gone through just yesterday was completely worth it.

The trip was quite uneventful, and uneventful was good, Jaune decided.

 _Still, the trip was way too quiet._

* * *

They'd been walking for some time already, and yes, really walking. As in, not riding despite the fact that they had a perfectly fine horse with them.

Jaune had tried to offer both L.T. and Olive rides, yet Olive merely turned even more scarlet at the thought of "riding him" as he'd put it, and L.T. had only looked at the horse with what seemed like existential dread, like how his sisters' potential boyfriends used to look like when they met his father.

 _Weird._

With a shrug, Jaune had dismounted from Albus and decided to walk alongside his companions. He didn't want to make them feel left out, after all!

The horse merely looked at them, and made a gesture with its eyes like it was raising an eyebrow, while snorting derisively as if to say "idiots".

No one spoke a word since they left the White Fang encampment.

Jaune tried to meet their eyes several times to hopefully strike up a conversation, but things only got weirder and weirder.

Every time his and L.T.'s eyes met, the faunus seemed to breathe faster and deeper, while his hand would go stroke the hilt of his chainsword.

Seriously, he did it every time without fail.

Jaune's eyes widened. He'd heard about these. To his knowledge, fencers and other such warriors would make small gestures and salutes to acknowledge their respect for their opponents or worthy warriors.

 _Was this man acknowledging him?_

 _Oh God, was I snubbing him by not responding?_

Eagerly, Jaune moved his hand to the hilt of Crocea Mors and began stroking it too.

Back and forth, back and forth, while breathing hard just like he had seen L.T. do.

L.T. seemed to freeze up. Did he do it wrong?

Jaune quickened the stroking.

L.T. was making that choking sound faunus seemed fond of making. Olive turned even redder and began jotting down something in a notebook.

Smiling, Jaune looked at Olive and resumed stroking, acknowledging her presence.

"Idiooooooots", Albus seemed to snort out again.

* * *

Jaune's party had finally reached the South Gates of Vale. Vale itself had four gates, North, South, East and West, connected by a huge wall around a hundred feet tall; strong enough to deter even the mightiest of Grimm.

Usually, whenever he and his family would visit the city, they'd either go there through bullhead or directly from the village through the West Gate.

Just past the Back Gates were the slum areas after all.

Whatever levity L.T. and Olive had shown during the trip was gone, to be replaced by some sort of... depressed determination? Jaune noted.

From the outside, the walls and high spires of Vale were covered in morning's golden glow, but as they entered, Jaune noticed that this light didn't seem to reach the slums.

It was gray. The walls blocked off the light coming from the sunrise.

Jaune looked around. It was the first time he'd been here.

The streets were narrow and seemed to exude some feeling of tension. The buildings were old and dilapidated, with most of their paint chipping. Most streetlights had bulbs that were either dimmed, or broken.

And the smell. God, the whole place reeked of trash everywhere.

Looking by the streets, it appeared Jaune wasn't the only one who was nervous. There was a small team of cops patrolling the area, hands twitching towards their weapons at the smallest noise.

Each Gate leading to Vale was heavily-defended, but this one, aside from keeping the Grimm out also seemed made to keep the people in.

Prison. Jaune thought. The place was like a prison.

And there was one more thing, probably what struck Jaune the most.

There were no humans here, only faunus.

There were only faunus leaving and entering the old buildings in the area. Only faunus children playing in the streets. Only shabbily-dressed faunus getting on the buses and trains.

A light hand tapped Jaune from behind and he had to restrain himself from yelping.

"Jaune", whispered Olive almost pleadingly, "we need to go."

Recovering, Jaune nodded, L.T. had already walked ahead, head subtly turning left and right as if checking for something.

After checking for whatever it is he seemed to look out for, L.T. pulled on his collar, and Olive took that as a cue for them to follow.

Hands still holding Albus' reins, Jaune and his small party delved deeper into the slums.

They didn't maintain a steady pace. Sometimes, he and Olive would wait just behind the corner until they'd heard two knocks on the wall, signifying that L.T. thought it was clear. Other times, they'd hear someone pass through, and all three (four of them if you counted Albus.) Of them would duck into an alleyway.

They were evading the strangely huge amount of cops, Jaune realized.

Olive simply sent him a pleading look as if to say she would just explain later.

Eventually they ducked into one passageway leading to one of the old buildings that seemed to be an apartment complex. L.T. carefully approached the left wall and knocked on it thrice.

Almost immediately, scurrying could be heard from all around them. Jaune reached for Crocea Mors, but Olive's hand on his stopped him from drawing the blade.

Looking at his companion, while a light blush tinged her cheeks, her brown eyes seemed determined, and she shook her head "no".

Steeling himself, Jaune decided to trust his companion.

Besides, if the worst were to happen, his aura had hopefully recovered enough to hopefully allow him to escape.

One by one, faunus began popping out behind them, blocking out the exit. Faunus began appearing from verandas of the buildings to his sides, and finally, dead ahead, even more, you guessed it, faunus began peeking out.

They were all armed to the teeth.

They all had, at the very least, some body armor. Some held rifles, and the others held swords, specifically, katanas. The last ones, the ones with the most scars and likely the most experience, had mass produced mecha-shift weapons that were in either rifle form or sword form.

All were pointed at them.

Their eyes narrowed when they saw him, but seemed to widen and then relax upon seeing Olive and L.T.

One of the mecha-shift weapon users dropped down from the veranda he was on, and ran up to L.T.

That faunus, likely the leader of the group, Jaune noted, was a nondescript blonde fox faunus with blue eyes and... was that a mullet?! He was wearing simple olive drab fatigues and had some pretty swanky aviator shades on him.

Jaune readied himself for a fight, but then was surprised when the man saluted L.T.

"Lieutenant! This is a surprise." He greeted. "You'd just dropped off the last shipment. We'd thought it'd be awhile before we saw you next."

"Plans change, Miller." (Lieutenant?) L.T. had told him. "Our group's moving, we're going to lay low for awhile, so it's likely we're not going to be able to deliver supplies for some time."

At this, Olive let down the heavy sack she was carrying. One sack was filled with food, specifically vegetables, common vegetables like carrots and potatoes.

 _What was going on? They went to all this trouble to smuggle food to Vale?_

Then Jaune had noticed more eyes on them. Peering into the windows of the surrounding buildings, he had noticed even more faunus eyes on him. Except... these ones weren't armed, nor were they wary, but relieved.

And these faunus were thin, malnourished.

Jaune's eyes narrowed. What was the council doing about this?

Less carefully than Olive had, L.T. had dropped his sack to the ground, causing a few of its contents to fall out.

Instead of food, these contained weapons.

Easy-to-use, mass produced, and durable, assault rifles, various firearms, dust ammunition, and collapsible swords.

It seems the White Fang were supplying food and arms to the depressed faunus-populated areas of Vale.

The food he could understand, but the weapons?

Given the ease of use with weapons like these, as well as incentive from the food, you could easily make soldiers out of these faunus.

His sister Rouge had beat the importance of food in morale many times, after all.

 _But why,_ mused Jaune, _it's not like the White Fang are a terrorist organization._

 _... unless they are._

 _Nah. They'd have attacked me already if they were anti-human fanatics._ Jaune reasoned.

In the meantime, as Jaune was thinking, the other conversation was getting more hushed.

"... what about the _hu-_ err, I mean, what about him?" asks the faunus now known as Miller.

"He's with us," gruffly replied L.T. with what sounded like grudging acceptance. "Helped fend off an enemy attack."

"A human sympathiser? Really?"

"Seems that way for now. Whether he is or not, he's very strong, and we've taken some casualties. Don't get on his bad side for the time being."

The faunus gaped before realizing it and returning his face into that of a stoic professional. For the jingoistic lieutenant to actually admit someone was strong and that they were in bad shape only mean that...

"Duly noted, Lieutenant. We'll offer him any assistance within reason." He replied.

"Good." L.T. grunted, "Adam himself says to do so, too."

Faunus ears perked up, Adam wanted them to assist this human?

Now, while it is well known that faunus hearing is generally more effective than that of a human's, it is only a recent discovery that the effectivity of this faunus hearing differs per type of faunus. Bat faunus for example, boast hearing so great that as of present, they're practically walking sonars and hired for jobs from "wiretapping" to stalking.

Good luck convincing a proud faunus that he could've heard something wrong.

Whispers began spreading from faunus to faunus.

"Adam wants us to assist him!"

"Why would Adam support a human? He must really like this one."

Faunus ears from the other side of the passageway perked up.

"Adam likes this human?"

"No, Adam doesn't do like, he does respect. Shit, what must've this human did?"

"Adam respects this human? Holy crap?!"

Blissfully unaware of the mad whisperings going on all around him, something else took Jaune and Olive's notice.

While they were too deep in what seemed to be a residential complex for roving policemen to discover him, they were not too quiet as to evade the apartment's denizens.

More and more faunus began peeking out of shabby doors and dirty windows, none deigning to approach.

Except for one.

A small boy had walked up to Jaune and looked at him.

He had mouse ears on his head, in addition to his normal human ears (how did that feel like?), and he was wearing a faded yellow shirt several sizes larger than him and ratty blue shorts.

Despite the obvious wear and tear though, Jaune noticed that they'd been mended very carefully several times.

Not just that, the fact that the child and his clothes, shabby they may be, were clean. Jaune could see no bruises or wounds on him. Most telling, was the fact that the kid's eyes, while wary, were still full of curiosity.

This spoke volumes to Jaune.

He didn't know what to expect in these slums, but at the very least, there were people who took care of the kids.

And those people were being cared for by the White Fang.

 _Isn't there anything I could do?_

Then realization struck, there was something he could do. For this boy at least.

Huge grin on his face, Jaune bent down til he and the kid were eye level, and stuck his hand out.

"Hi, I'm Jaune."

* * *

"... and then Blake Belladonna separated the train cars." Finished the White Fang Lieutenant. "Chances are, the survivors already alerted the Schnee of our presence."

"Blake did?" whispered Miller, the faunus in charge of the complex. "But, she was always so loyal, so dedicated to the cause!"

"Apparently not loyal enough." Scoffed the Lieutenant. "And if that wasn't enough, we had a run-in from some humans who wanted to use us."

"What organization were they from? There must've been plenty of them to inflict that many casualties."

"We don't know where their loyalties lie, but there were only three of them."

"Three?!" Miller's eyes were wide under his aviators.

"And they nearly beat Adam and the rest of us. With them and the Schnee on our trails, we need to move."

"And this... Jaune. Where does he figure in all this?"

The Lieutenant simply put a hand on Miller's shoulder and stared at him grimly.

"He's the reason we're not dead, or kissing the feet of some human." Intoned the Lieutenant. "He can probably wipe out this place if he wanted to."

"... He's that strong?"

"Probably tougher." the lieutenant grudgingly admitted, "he didn't even look like he broke a sweat when he drove our attackers off."

"Why is he here then?! Couldn't you have just given him payment and left?"

"Because, apparently, he's a sympathiser to the cause."

"A-a sympathiser?"

The Lieutenant nodded as he spoke, "Adam spoke to him, and in front of the entire camp, Jaune spoke of how he viewed the faunus as equals, and how we shouldn't give up our arms."

"Really? But what's in it for him?"

The Lieutenant clenched his fist.

"That's what we're trying to find out. Jaune says it's because he just helps people in need. Adam on the other hand, thinks he's a spy from the Arcs, but who the hell tries to infiltrate a terrorist cell with that motive?"

"So I'm guessing that's why he's here in our more... "humanitarian" efforts than in our forward operating bases?"

A gruff nod. "You're getting it. If he is some philanthropist, then touring him around our orphanages and housing will seal the deal. If he's some spy... "

"He gets nothing they don't already know." Was the response, understanding lighting his eyes.

"Someone as strong and as well-connected as him joining us would be an opportunity." Declared the Lieutenant. "We'll be away, Miller, do what you can to secure his loyalty to us; if not, just try to keep him neutral."

"Understood, Lieutenant."

* * *

"Yay, faster! Faster!" yelled the child.

"Hah. In that case hold on!" responded Jaune, as he steadied the child riding with him on Albus' saddle. "Let's go!"

Olivine Tiresias didn't know what to think of Jaune Arc.

The first time she had seen him was as that of a god, like a figure larger than life.

Adam was a hero to the Fang, and this human, who looked about her age, stood his ground.

She never expected the man to flirt with her, and the Lieutenant. Nor did she expect the man to give horseback rides around the complex to random faunus orphans they had taken in, uncaring of all the potential enemies he had surrounding him.

Then again, she'd seen him in action, and he didn't display any fear in the midst of their most battle hardened soldiers. No way would these numbers even faze them.

Jaune let the kid down from Albus and declared, "Who's next?" children, awakened by the galloping, already began clamouring for turns on the horse.

Rather than turn them away, as most human shopkeepers were wont to do, Jaune just laughed, and hoisted another child on.

She didn't miss the fact that Jaune carefully had his arms around the children as they rode. No disgust, just barely-masked concern.

Olive decided that, for the moment, she liked Jaune.

She really hoped he wasn't a spy.

And speaking of spies.

Blake Belladonna had been found securing fake transcripts for Beacon.

Olive's eyes narrowed, her own forged papers had just been sent to Beacon a few minutes ago. According to those, she was a graduate of a small combat school in West Vale.

The Fang had already paid a school contact off to say yes.

Righteous, virtuous hunters, the stalwart guardians of humanity indeed.

The Council's own incompetence would be its undoing.

She was to gain the traitor's trust, spy on Beacon's actions, and eliminate the traitor when the time was right.

A faunus girl squealed as Jaune made the horse they were riding leap.

The sight of it brought a smile to her face.

She really, really wished he wasn't a spy; not now, when he was living proof of peaceful coexistence.

When he was proof that equality was possible.

When he was proof that they could win.

 _Good luck, Jaune. To whatever it is you came to Vale to accomplish._

* * *

"Wh-what do you mean m-my transcripts are fake?!" stuttered Jaune.

"Don't play dumb, Mr. Arc." admonished Glynda Goodwitch, who slammed the papers on her desk. "We have just checked with Signal. They have apparently never heard of you."

"W-well, I'm just not that popular there, then. Heh." The boy stuttered.

Glynda shut him up with an expression that promised pain.

Deciding on another approach, Jaune jumped off the chair and got to his knees, hands clasped as if to beg mercy from an angry goddess.

"Please, please just give me a chance! I'll prove it, I'll prove I can handle Beacon!"

Glynda sighed. Perhaps it was good that Qrow returned to Beacon early. She and Ozpin usually spoke decided on applicants together, but Beacon's Headmaster was currently listening to Qrow's report in his office. No doubt if Ozpin were here, the man would stare into his coffee and just accept the Arc boy's transcripts.

No, she decided. Jaune Arc shouldn't belong to Beacon.

With the Council's urging for a higher supply of hunters decades ago, a hungry international media turned hunters and huntresses into celebrities. Huntsmen were used for advertising, documentaries were made of them; to keep the kingdoms positive, huntsmen also found a new enemy – negativity.

Huntsmen became icons and public figures. They became superheroes in the eyes of those without aura. Everyone knew who Pyrrha Nikos, Three-Time Mistral Combat Tournament Champion, was probably her best example. As a result of the profession's sudden popularity, combat schools and academies were always swamped with applicants.

And not all of those applicants had proper training and thus, the proper transcripts.

Though this was years ago, Glynda could remember that most of said headstrong applicants died in scant moments after Initiation started.

Some didn't even have their aura awakened, and died as their bodies splattered all over the Grimmlands after they were launched, and those were the lucky ones.

And Jaune Arc...

The Arcs were different.

When the Seven Sisters announced they were going to be Huntresses, practically the whole world knew. The preparatory schools they were in greatly lauded their achievements. Even now, as they were adults, one of the Sisters would have a TV appearance every month.

With Jaune Arc, however, were Spouses Alexander and Athena silent.

The only word she had ever received from them was a request never to let him attend a combat school.

With the way he appeared now, appearing in person when most transcripts were delivered by courier, with school records that were denied by the combat schools he allegedly attended?

No, she decided, Jaune Arc was not fit for Beacon.

Only sorrow would await the boy here.

The Arcs already had seven daughters risking life and limb in the battlefield. She may as well spare them worrying for the well-being and safety of another child.

With a flick of her wrist, her telekinesis shredded the Arc boy's fake transcripts, and likely his current dreams, no doubt.

The gobsmacked expression and the tears pooling in his eyes told her so.

Glynda sighed.

Sometimes, she really hated her job.

"Mr. Arc." she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "For the sake of your family, I will report nothing to them."

Jaune's blue eyes met her emerald ones.

"Please go home."

* * *

"Ah, Glynds!" The drunk buffoon had greeted, "You're late!"

"Qrow." Glynda Goodwitch sighed as she stepped into the headmaster's office. "Unlike you, some of us have actual work to do."

"Please, save the arguments for later." Requested Ozpin, seated behind his desk, hands steeped together. "Qrow was reporting something of utmost importance. Please continue."

"Ah, now where was I?" Qrow was scratching the stubble on his chin, "Oh yeah." He snapped his fingers.

"So I picked up the Fall Maiden, only to run into, would you believe it, the White Friggin' Fang attacking poor, poor hunters-in-training. Maiden Amber was terrified, shaking in her boots!" Qrow declared, wide, heroic gestures accompanying his loud voice.

"Oh, save me, save me Mr. Qrow from the bad, bad men!"

Glynda repressed the urge to choke the asshole.

With a glinting smile, Qrow continued, "But thankfully, for the maiden, I, the great Qrow, was there. Drawing my sword I..."

"You..?" inquired Ozpin as he took a sip from his mug.

"I... uhh, dove to the side of the forest, because someone just crashed through the forest and into one of them hunters-in-training." Qrow finished lamely.

"You... what?" the witch deadpanned.

"Interesting." Mused Ozpin. "Did you catch a glimpse of who it was?"

Qrow's eyes grew serious. "This is actually why I went straight to you guys as soon as I got to Vale. The guy, the _human_ , who crashed into the hunters was welcomed by the White Fang."

The White Fang had collaborators within the ranks of the huntsmen? They should have known.

"Unusual" commented Glynda. "Did you recognize who he was?"

Ozpin took another sip.

"No, I didn't," Qrow admitted, "Amber seemed to recognize him as the man who stole her horse."

"How troubling." Mused Ozpin, eyes narrowed imperceptibly, at least to anyone who wasn't Glynda. "Do you believe it was some sort of trap for the Maiden?"

"If it was, nothing happened. The White Fang gathered up, but they didn't seem to know we were there." Was the response.

"Appearance." Mentioned Glynda. "What did he look like?"

"Didn't get much of him," grimaced Qrow, "Was too busy getting off the ground, and most of him, least from behind, was hidden by his cloak. He had blonde hair though."

Glynda frowned. Although that description was pretty useless to go on, she couldn't help but feel that that appearance was familiar somehow.

Qrow snapped his fingers in realization. "The maiden! The maiden would recognize him. She says she has his wallet for some reason."

 _What._

Glynda massaged her temples as Ozpin raised an eyebrow. This situation was getting more perplexing by the minute.

"Speaking of which." Inquiries Ozpin, "Where is Fall Maiden Amber?"

Qrow's jaw dropped, "She's not with you? I thought I left her in your custody as soon as we got to Vale."

Ozpin frowned. Ozpin never frowned, ohohoho, were you fucked now, Qrow.

"Uhh, yeah, just gimme a sec." remarked Qrow, slowly backing out of the room.

When Qrow apparently thought he was beyond earshot, they could hear frenzied running.

"What a mess." Ozpin commented, "Though I suppose we should at least be glad we have some idea of the Fall Maiden's whereabouts."

"Sir," inquired Glynda, "What do we do regarding this... White Rider? The possible Huntsman turned spy."

Ozpin put down his mug, as he regarded Glynda with his normally passive look.

"A traitor, a spy within the ranks of our huntsmen is... disheartening, but not unmanageable." Ozpin declared. "As always, we must be ever-vigilant for the machinations of spies."

Glynda nodded. The Fall Maiden was said to have a wallet with hopefully a picture of the White Rider. Amber was at least safer in Vale than the outskirts of the Kingdom.

She'd turn up eventually.

Hopefully.

"What of the applications? Do we at least have a full number of applicants readied for initiation?" asked Ozpin.

How Ozpin was able to remain so calm despite a potential emergency at hand was beyond her.

Glynda really, really hated her job.

Sighing again, Glynda produced a set of transcripts.

"These are the transcripts of the last applicant who passed screening, sir."

Ozpin took the transcripts.

With a sip of his coffee, Ozpin read the applicant's name aloud.

"Olivine Tiresias, huh?"

Ozpin took out a stamp and marked the papers "approved".

* * *

Chapter 3 End.

* * *

AN: Oh God, it's finally over, yes.

Also yes, Miller is Kaz Miller. Technically his name here is Keppel Azure. I blame MGS.


	5. Chapter 4: Burnout

**AN:** Alrighty then. With the premise done, we can finally get on with the story proper. That said, I want to get some things sorted out first.

 **1.) Regarding Team PORN** – on both and SB, this was what seemed to strike people the most. Of course they're not actually called porn, but actually porcelain. To be quite honest, I had originally came up with the team name for fun, but then after a good night's rest, I realized this was something big.

Think of Beacon without Jaune. I believe College Fool's latest work, _Diary of a Concerned Friend,_ highlights Jaune's role in the story thus far. Without him, well... At the airship, no one would throw up on Yang's boots, and serve as an icebreaker. No one would've helped Ruby up after she crashed into Weiss.

The main deal is that Jaune is a connector, something that puts pieces together. Without JNPR, there would be little to no connection between RWBY and between JNPR and even in JNPR itself. No one would serenade Weiss. Jaune was the only mutual acquaintance they all had, and so they sat together. Without someone as dumb as Jaune, no one would've reached out to Pyrrha, and so treat her without placing her on a pedestal. Nora and Ren would remain friendly, but they each monopolize each other the most, and Pyrrha is too bashful to reach out.

It's going to be even worse in this story. The Jaune-stand-in happens to be a Fang Spy who definitely won't blurt out her life secrets to her team. While Nora might, Pyrrha, Olivine, and Ren don't really reach out and make the first move, even moreso that their name is the subject of teasing. Blame Ozpin's Random Name Generator. It named RWBY and CRDL after specific people, that's going to lead to tensions.

In case I might never finish this story, I'll say it. When I think of porcelain, the first thing that comes to mind is a plate. Plates are durable and strong, yet enough pressure will eventually break them, and there's a style of putting them back together ornamentally using gold. _Kintsukuroi._ _Gold is yellow._

Or... I'm possibly justifying the fact that I really wanted to name them porn, and that this is a red herring. Yay.

 **2.) Regarding OC's –** Shit, I might need to make more. I plan to make use of most of the unused factions mentioned within Canon RWBY, such as the Vale Police Department, and whatnot, and they have 0 named characters, save for Burnie. My apologies to everyone. I'll do my best not to make you hate them that much.

 **3.) Regarding RWBY Episode 10 – GAHAHAHAHAHAHA, Ryuugi was right, Ryuugi was always, always right! He always knew! He was trying to tell us about the Dragon in TGWP this whole time!**

 **4.) Regarding this Chapter –** I'm really sorry everyone. This chapter ended up more cumbersome than I thought. The action should finally start in the next one.

 **5.) Regarding you –** Thank you all for your continued support. You can't imagine how giddy I get every time I see a review. Yes, I read them all. Thank you all, and I wish you luck in whatever dreams you have yet to accomplish. For you guys, I hope no dream is too lofty, no situation too dire for you not to succeed.

 _After all, Hitler got to where he was drunkenly ranting in a pub._

* * *

 **Arc of the Revolution**

 **Chapter 4: Burnout**

* * *

"It is easy, exceedingly so with the benefit of hindsight, to point our fingers at men and women of the past, and scream "What the fuck were you inbreds thinking?!".

With threats both outwards in the form of Grimm, and inwards in the form of Terrorists, it is easy to scream obscenities at the lack of foresight displayed by both the Councilmen of the Four Kingdoms, and the White Fang. What use was there in suppressing the faunus, or for that matter, your own population with military force, or obtaining equal civil rights if the toll for it was the complete collapse of civilization?

Indeed, in our modern era, the mistakes of the past would only seem to be the height of folly; yet it is impossible for us to avoid said mistakes without first understanding the contexts of the people that had made them.

Despite popular belief, the Councilmen were not incompetent. Corrupt, pompous, extremely conservative and narrow-minded, maybe, but not incompetent. To rule a Kingdom, every Councilman knew that even the slightest amount of turmoil, whether it be economic, social or martial, meant horrible death by Grimm.

To avoid the deaths of many, the Councilmen had to make sure to truly follow the voice of the people, regardless of what it was. For example, had they given in to the White Fang, a minority group, the vast majority of people still harboring hatred for the faunus would have at the very least exuded negativity to attract the Grimm, and at the very worst caused another civil war. Given that part of this vast majority were powerful hunter families like the Winchesters, hurting from the Faunus War, eruption of civil war was a grim possibility.

Another example of factors that the Councils had lost control of were the Huntsmen. Given the need for swords against the Grimm, the Councils had glorified them, turning every Huntsman into at least a minor celebrity. The Councils had enforced the image of the Virtuous and Noble Huntsman to the hungry masses who ate it up.

This lack of control was a mistake. Eventually, the Councils realized they created a powerful faction that they needed and could not control. With the media on their side, as well as their martial prowess, the Huntsmen grew too powerful.

General James Ironwood, for example, integrated both the Atlesian Military and the Atlesian Huntsmen under his command, as well as maintained close ties with Beacon Headmaster Ozpin, who held the loyalty of every Beacon Huntsman-in-Training, Alumnus, and Alumna. With but a single word, either of these two would be able to seize power and enforce military dictatorships, with the short-term approval of the populace.

On lower levels, Huntsmen-in-Training and Hunters practically answered to no one but their seniors. As long as they did not alienate other Huntsmen, they were free to be vigilantes, to be vandals, and to cause property damage as they wanted, free of serious repercussions. In the face of the Grimm, only a fool would pick a policeman over a hunter.

Faunus and Human, Huntsman and Normal, the Councils could only stare in dumb horror as even the best possible options they could think of merely widened the gap between their peoples even further. It is no exaggeration to say that the Kingdoms at those times were literal houses of cards waiting to crumble.

Pinkamena Diane Pie, _History is a Bad Party: Prelude to the New Fang Revolution_ : Chapter 1

* * *

The night was silent and the air was cold.

Six of the Seven had arrived home; Bianca Arc was off doing her usual thing, and by that they meant she had absolutely disappeared from the face of Remnant, while their parents were extremely busy.

Rouge Arc frowned.

Rouge Arc was an expert on explosions, she should know, her semblance was pyrokinesis itself, and she'd caused her fair share of them.

Yet, with all her expertise, the only thing she could accurately identify was that "Shit, these bombs were pretty damn powerful." There were no fragments of explosive devices, no chemical residue, and barely anything of the house remaining.

What remained of their ancestral home was a crater on the ground.

Whoever had attacked them likely managed to set off the traps rigged in the armory.

Sienna's eyes had opened. She looked at Rouge and nodded. They'd spent enough time together in Vacuo to understand each other's little quirks.

"Jaune wasn't affected by the explosion." declared Rouge, to the relief of the five other sisters, who had released breaths they hadn't known they were holding.

If the explosion truly killed their brother, the vast reserves of aura their brother had would've been able to protect him to some extent. In the best case scenario, he would be cooked slightly rare, and at worst, he'd leave behind a gruesome corpse.

Sienna had searched the earth and had found neither.

She also hadn't found Crocea Mors.

Near-identical blue eyes had traded looks.

"While not at our level, our brother shan't be overpowered by the typical ruffian." chimed in Sapphire Arc. "It is likely he has eluded his assailants, and escaped."

"Either that," mutters Indigo, "Or they've taken him."

Viola narrowed her eyes, "For them to take him would mean someone at least Huntsman-in-Training level. That doesn't exactly narrow down our list of suspects."

Rogue nodded, and began recalling who was on the Arc Family shit-list. The Upper, and Upper-Middle Level of the White Fang's zealots were at that level at least, and would certainly have much to gain by holding an Arc captive. From cessation of hostilities in Vacuo, to spilling critical Atlesian military intelligence; they could demand anything.

Speaking of Atlas, through Ozpin, as well as thanks to Indigo and Viola, they were also nominally allied to General James Ironwood. While there were no overt hostilities, they knew the General was wary of the power the Arc Family could bring to bear in his precious little Atlas. They also knew he resented them due to lobbying against his totalitarian policies with the Councils. _Was this a move by him?_

The Councils perhaps? The Councils had always been suspicious of the power that the Hunter Families could throw around. Cloak and Dagger was always definitely their MO, and if Jaune was in their hands, so too was their allegiance... for the moment.

Or it could've been another party entirely. Ex-huntsman mercenaries weren't hard to find.

But.

Then there was one more with such resources at their disposal.

Someone who they knew actually knew the location of their Manor.

Ozpin.

Rouge frowned. While Ozpin was... unorthodox, he always pulled through. He saw potential in those everyone else had given up on, and it wasn't unheard of him allowing even reformed terrorists, and even Huntsmen-in-Training who hadn't finished schooling to receive admission to Beacon.

For the greater good, Ozpin had claimed.

Besides, there was always the chance Jaune had simply run away.

And besides, the Family'd asked Ozpin to refuse, Jaune knew that, right?

Surely if Jaune went to Ozpin, the Headmaster would refuse him and inform them, right?

He would, right?

Right?

...

But that wouldn't explain the attack.

Ozpin wouldn't assault the home of one of his staunchest allies would he, even if he believed it were for the greater good?

...

...

"Oh, Goddammit." swore Indigo, apparently coming up with the same suspicions as her. "They're all plausible."

"Indeed." muttered Viridian. "Jaune has become one with the Force. He has become more powerful than we can possibly imagine."

Five other heads nodded solemnly, so too did Rouge, she didn't consider that.

"We could cover more ground if we split up." suggested Sienna.

"If they are truly free of guilt, we cannot allow anyone, let alone, Ironwood and the Councils, to know our dilemma." commented Sapphire, frigid and cold as her semblance. "The last thing we need is our political opponents scrambling madly looking for our brother for their own ends."

"Then it's decided." declared Rouge, the de facto leader of the Seven. "As much as we'd rather search for him blindly, we can't. We go back to our posts in the kingdoms with our ears to the ground. We disseminate every piece of info that even smells close to Jaune."

As if it were choreographed, the Sisters nodded their heads at the same time.

It was almost scary how perfect the synergy they had with each other was.

Rouge knelt among the ashes and grasped a handful, wistfully remembering happy days gone by. You really don't know what you had until you lose it.

"Don't worry, little bro." whispered Rouge Arc, "We'll find you, wherever you are, and we'll cleave through whoever stands in our way, I swear."

"Arcs never go back on their word."

* * *

"I broke my word!" slurred Jaune, face wet with tears as he slammed his mug down on the bar."Sh-she just told me to go home! I can't go home! Not like this..."

Hei Xiong Junior regarded him with a dull look as he continued polishing glasses. Absently, Junior was quite impressed the kid could cry louder than the music blaring from the speakers of his bar. Those weren't the weak speakers, these were the kind that, at full blast, could literally blow clothes off; he'd spent good money on them.

"That sounds, like, rough." came the surprisingly sincere tones of Melanie Malachite, who sat on the bar stool next to Jaune's.

Junior was a little surprised, the Twins weren't usually even half this nice to – well, anyone. Actually, come to think about it, the Twins hadn't shown interest in _anyone_ ever, whether they were boy-band levels of "cool" and "dreamy", or whether they were ripped beyond belief.

Then again, he'd picked them off the street after their house, a small apartment in South Vale, had burned down along with their mother, a widow. Maybe they saw a little of themselves in this poor guy with broken dreams and nowhere else to go.

Either that or his wild story about turning his house into the biggest Roman Candle in known history, stealing an aura-generating horse that could gallop at mach 1 from a random old hag, getting the shit beaten out of him by bandits with legs to allegedly die for, and being worshipped as a god by the White Fang broke the Twins' usual apathy like the Kool-Aid Man and a brick wall.

Junior knew he wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, but when the guy who bought fake transcripts from you shows up later, bawling while riding an irritated-looking horse tells that story, most people would fucking listen.

Seriously, the kid had rode that thing into the dance floor while his bouncers were picking busy their jaws off the ground.

Speaking of which, his henchmen had no idea how to deal with the horse, but apparently the novelty of seeing a horse tied outside his club, drinking beer from a trough was raking in more customers than usual. He figured he could cut the kid some slack.

"One more pleashh." slurred Jaune.

"Kid, I think you've had enough." declared Junior

"Shaddap." muttered Jaune as he swayed dangerously from side to side. Miltiades, who sat on his left, threw her arm around his shoulder and held him steady.

"C'mon, Junior, can't you like, cut Jaune some slack for the night?" asked Miltia. "He's obviously had like, a pretty rough day, and like, the money his horse is raking in is more than enough to pay for what he's drinking."

"Miltia, he's drinking milk." Junior deadpanned. "This kid is underage. I have no idea why he's acting that way though."

"I think the stress from the day, like, broke his mind." commented Melanie, who sat on Jaune's right, as she rubbed circles on Jaune's back. "Snapped like a twig."

"Speaking of which." said the twins in unison with the same precision they narrowed their eyes at him.

"Your transcripts, like, never failed screening." said Melanie.

"This is, like, the first time ever." continued Miltiades.

"Why?" in unison, this time.

It was almost scary how perfect the synergy they had with each other was.

"Whoa, whoa." said Junior as he tried to wave his hands in a placating gesture. "I have no idea myself, this is the first time this happened."

Seriously, Junior didn't know. He had an arrangement – well, less of an arrangement and more of a debt he was owed by this drunk asshole named Qrow, who was apparently a teacher at Signal. With that guy's huge tab, and inability to pay up, Junior had to find other means of payment. They'd worked out a deal where Qrow would validate any fake transcript Junior sent his way, and it had worked well up to now.

Maybe he was out of town?

A small pain had made itself known in Junior's head. Junior grumbled, his asshole sense was tingling. Since he'd gone 'legit' (well, except for the transcripts business on the side) he stopped running into the kinds of filthy double-crossers he'd known in his youth.

Well, except for one.

"I must say, Junior, you serve horses now?" swaggered in the smug form of Roman Torchwick, dumb hat and cigar and all, "This fine establishment's growth continues to astound me. Very soon, maybe a decade or so, you _just might_ be able to serve drinks to actual people now."

"Roman." growled Junior. He was sure the Twins and himself could take him, but wherever Roman was, his little psychopath was sure to follow.

He met Miltia's eyes and she nodded. Leaving Jaune with Melanie at the bar counter, Junior and Miltia strode over to the self-professed Master Criminal. His men as well took the cue and began to zone out any customer who got close.

His dark, serious eyes met Roman's mirth-filled green ones.

Junior always liked the fact that he stood nearly a full foot taller than Roman, it forced the man to actually look up at people for once in his life.

Neither man spoke. Miltiades stood a few steps behind him. She was still at the bar, but if it came to a fight, he knew Melanie would arrive in but a few steps.

There was something different about Roman's smirk today though. Usually, Roman would be filled with – not-entirely - false bravado, he had to admit, but today?

Roman's smirk was malice personified, just like his pet psychopath.

 _Something was different_.

Junior gave in first.

"Roman." Junior rumbled. "What do you want?"

Roman simply sported a huge grin, and blew a puff of smoke from his cigar onto Junior's face.

"Why, Junior, I always knew you were rather slow." another puff. "But thankfully, your good friend Roman is here for you. Why, I'm most happy with the fact tha – "

"What. do. you. want?"

Roman placed a hand on his chest, "Oh, Junior, I'm hurt, is that the way you treat old frie – "

"What. Do. You. Want?"

There was more force to that bellow than the last one. Junior's hands twitched towards his club-bazooka, but remembered he kept it behind the bar. No matter, underneath the resting bitch face, Miltiades was riled up enough for the both of them.

Roman's eyes narrowed, but then he chuckled.

Junior's face scrunched into a glare at the younger man. The Xiong Crime Family was notorious, but he grew tired of sleeping with one eye open and left. With the exception of his transcripts sideline, which got him informants within Beacon, his job as an information broker and as a nightclub owner were completely legitimate.

Legitimate, yes. Moral? Arguable.

"I've come to your _fine establishment_ today bearing sweet opportunity, my friend." smiled Roman, arms wide. "I've a business opportunity, where the field are just ripe for the harvest, I simply need some... _extra hands._ "

A business opportunity with Roman?

Back when he was with his Father, Xiong Senior, joint operations with criminals actually meant cooperation. Criminals had enough enemies in the law, after all. Given that everyone was wary of being backstabbed, it formed some sort of code. If you actually wanted to be trusted, you had to acknowledge that every criminal worth his salt had access to good intel, so you made damn sure you were credible. And to be credible in those days meant no bullshit; each side upholds his part of the deal, you shake hands, and you're done.

When he was legitimized, it was actually worse. With the amount of red tape and bullshit he had to wade his way through, he would've actually preferred dealing with the criminals. Still, at the very least, the most the government would want was a bribe, and not your head mounted on someone's mantelpiece.

But dealing with Roman?

Even if you upheld your end of the deal, the man would likely thank you while he beat you to an inch of your life. Then he would take your wallet, your scroll, your clothes, your wife, your kidneys, and maybe even your hair.

But.

The criminal underworld didn't fear Roman Torchwick for his fighting abilities. No, he had the pint-sized illusion-generating hanger-on for that. The criminal underworld feared Roman because of his brain. The criminal underworld feared Roman because he was intelligent, knew how to get things done, and knew people that knew people, and that he was _bored._

People did more crazy shit that if they were bored as compared to if they were drunk, high, or furious. He was a bartender, damn it, he knew that for a fact.

The smirk on Roman's face told him everything.

 _Neopolitan was watching, and he had some other advantage over him. A new boss, new associates perhaps?_

With a tired sigh, he waved for Roman to get on with it.

Roman's grinned a toothy grin.

"Something big is going on, I need plenty of dust, and I need plenty of muscle..."

* * *

"Strawberry Sunrise. No ice. Oh, and get me one of those little umbrellas!"

" _Huh, wuzzat_ " Jaune opened his eyes. He'd fallen asleep on the bar!

A quick patting of his pockets revealed that he still had all his stuff... wait a minute his wallet was missi – oh wait, he'd thrown it to the old lady he stole Albus from. Right. That was sure biting him in the ass now. He still had some money, but it wasn't enough to get him a place to stay.

Damn, he'd had a really long day...wait, actually it was two days, and all he had was that nap in Forever Fall.

 _Damn._

Jaune's mug of milk was still there; he took a hearty swig.

Jaune could feel the creamy, refreshing coolness go down his throat and into his stomach. He'd imagined it was literally melting off the layers of grogginess he'd accumulated from the trip.

Refreshed, Jaune blinked. Why _was_ he here again? He'd already managed to get some form of monetary compensation for the fake transcripts from Junior (with help from the Twins, of course).

"Oh!"

Jaune smacked his fist into his palm. He was going to ask for Junior about combat tutors, employment, and a place to stay.

Beacon sometimes accepted transferees in between semesters. Maybe if he'd managed to distinguish himself with a credible tutor, he could still get in! He just needed to find a cheap place to live in and look for a job. He'd seen some "Help Wanted" signs outside this very club after all, maybe he could work for Junior for awhile.

... Where was the big guy anyway?

Jaune turned around and thought he had just seen the sun.

And by sun he meant this... _Wow_ , beautiful, curvy woman wearing a smile that brightened not only his day, but the darkness of the club as well. She had the most _stunning_ lilac eyes, and hair as gold and grand as the sun's rays itself and – _Oh my God, did she just grab Junior's crotch?!_

Junior was squealing with a voice Jaune hadn't thought possible from the man. Should he help him, or was Junior into the freaky stuff?

I mean seriously, a crowd was forming.

"People say you know everything." snarled the blonde girl as she pulled out her scroll and shoved it at Junior's face. "Tell me where I can find her, and I'll let you go."

"I've never seen her before, I swear!" came Junior's pained response.

"Excuse me?!" the blonde girl tightened her grip. Junior visibly staggered. Jaune winced in sympathy.

"I swear, sir!"

 _Oh!_ Jaune sighed in relief. She was just extorting him, for a second there, he was worried.

Junior's bouncers and guards began rushing in, surrounding their boss and the blonde bombshell with their weapons drawn. Jaune reached out for some peanuts. No wonder the man was in such dire need of guards.

 _There was actually opportunity here_ , Jaune mused. If Junior's clientele were so rowdy, he could possibly make a name for himself while using this as a training experience. Profiling people, defending the customers and the boss while coordinating with other guards sounded close to VIP defending missions huntsmen usually went on. Jaune took a sip of his milk...

.. Aaand promptly spat it out as he spied Junior fly through the air and crash through one of the Club's glass pillars.

 _What the fuck?!_ Jaune spun around, and drew his sword.

He turned just in time to catch the blonde girl launch herself into the air with a cocky smile on her face and a flaming fist aimed at the ground.

" _Yellow beauty burns... Gooooooold",_ the speakers blared.

With a resounding crash, the girl had struck the floor so hard it _rippled,_ the closest bouncers and guards flying away by the sheer force of the blow. Jaune himself was pushed back on his butt.

The girl didn't let up. Before the rest of Junior's security could figure out what was going on, the girl had lunged, and with the momentum of a somersault, smashed another guard to the ground with a painful-sounding kick.

She didn't just stop there. Apparently, she had what seemed to be shotguns on her gauntlets, and she used them to great effect as a mid-range firearm, or as a method to launch herself forward and add even more momentum to her punches.

The DJ himself got in the action. Picking up what looked to be a tommy gun, the DJ started firing at the blonde.

 _How the hell can that guy aim under that bear mask?!_

Didn't help though, the blonde weaved through the hail of gunfire, and, launching herself with a shot from both her gauntlets, she landed on the elevated platform. From there, she kicked the DJ twice, slammed his head on his controls, and threw him to the dance floor for good measure.

The man landed painfully on the ground, probably begging for death. Without his aura, he probably would've broken every bone in his body.

Jaune winced. He knew the feeling.

The dance floor flashed from black to white.

The girls whom he had met and to whom he had made a fool of himself earlier stood at the center of the dance floor. Damn, he really should find some way to make it up to them for bothering them.

"Melanie, who is this girl?" inquired Miltiades, as she sauntered in beside her sister.

"I don't know, Miltia." replied Melanie, arms crossed, and confident, "but we should teach her a lesson."

The blonde responded by reloading her gauntlets and peppering them with gunfire as she leaped down.

The twins dodged the initial volleys, then flanked the blonde.

Jaune was impressed. He'd known from the way they carried themselves that they were fighters, but he didn't think they were that good. Both Miltia and Melanie rushed the blonde with bladed claws and heels relentlessly, not giving her any chance to react.

Jaune sat down back on his seat. It was over, both the twins had delivered a painful side kick on the blonde and she was knocked on her back.

We all know that wasn't how it went, though.

Instead of getting knocked out, the blonde used the momentum to roll back on her feet. Using her gauntlets to propel herself forward yet again, she launched herself off like a speeding bullet towards Melanie.

The white-dressed twin didn't see it coming and took a right hook to the face.

The red-twin on the other hand, was caught off-guard and was barely able to defend herself with her claws before shotgun-powered punches knocked her straight through yet another glass pillar.

As Melanie struggled to get up, it had occurred to Jaune that maybe it was about time he actually got off his ass and helped his new friends.

Weapons drawn, he made a beeline for the fallen Miltiades, as Melanie held her own at the blonde.

Jaune grit his teeth hard. He was outclassed yet again, first by some common thieves, and now by some blonde vandal?

If his ancestors could see him now, they would piss on him.

Still, there was one thing he might be able to do.

Jaune's blue eyes lit up with determination.

Despite all the horrible things that happened to him today, something completely awesome almost made up for it.

Earlier today, Jaune Arc had discovered his semblance.

* * *

 **Earlier that day.**

"Come on, Albus! Come on!" cried Jaune.

The horse he was riding merely snorted uncooperatively in response.

"Uhh, you're Jaune right?" came a voice behind him, "What are you doing?"

Jaune regarded the speaker. It was that blonde, aviators and fatigues-wearing fox faunus that LT was speaking to a while ago. Jaune squinted, if he didn't know any better, this guy looked like...

"Kaz?" Jaune thought out loud.

The faunus' mouth opened to a wide grin.

"You played Metal Gear?" 'Kaz' asked.

 _A fellow gamer!_ , Jaune smiled back, as he got off Albus, "Just until Peace Walker. Are you a cosplayer or something?"

"Heh, only finished Peace Walker too, myself. As for the name, just a really funny coincidence." The faunus stuck out his hand, "My name's Keppel Azure Miller. My friends call me Kaz, after the man in the game."

Jaune shook his hand, giddy. "I'm Jaune. Jaune Arc. I swear, from the voice, and the hair, and your face, you look just like him."

"Heh, maybe I do, but I don't think I'm that old yet." Kaz pulled off his aviators. He still looked like Kaz of the games, but without nearly as much of the stress lines and markings of age. If Kazuhira Miller of Metal Gear was at his 30's, then Keppel Azure Miller of the White Fang was in his 20's.

"You seen the trailers for Metal Gear Solid V, then?" Jaune asked.

"Yeah. Probably won't get the chance to try it out anytime soon, though."

"Oh, White Fang stuff?"

"White Fang stuff." Kaz shrugged while putting his sunglasses back on. "So... you're an Arc."

 _Ah_ , Jaune mused, _here it was._

"Yes, I'm an Arc." admitted the Arc. "What's up?"

 _An Arc?,_ thought Kaz, _That would explain his strength, Adam and the Lieutenant both vouch for him as well, but, this just seems too convenient for it to be true._

 _I need to keep an eye on him._

"So Jaune, how do you find the place?" Kaz' friendly smile was unwavering, neither was the hand holding his weapon behind his back.

Jaune's eyes dulled somewhat. "I've... well, spoken to some of the kids and their parents. You guys really have it rough."

Aside from the whole lack of repairs and utilities in the area by the Council, Jaune was able to observe much. Near double-charge on the prices of goods in most stores, decreased wages and benefits for faunus employees, discrimination by schoolteachers to faunus children, lack of several legal protections in the law, and from what he'd seen, the cops were even mean.

The wounds festering from the Faunus Rights Revolution had yet to heal, on both sides it seemed.

Wasn't the White Fang founded to bridge the gap between faunus and humans?

With the amount of lawlessness and the hostility displayed against them, no wonder the faunus were arming themselves.

But...

He'd seen the amount of weaponry the White Fang were packing. They'd have more than enough to take down Huntsmen if need be. They had been stockpiling more than just common ammunition, they were also packing armor penetrating ones, dust rounds of different types, bombs, body armor, you name it. It was overkill for the common thief or mook.

It was like they were gearing for a war.

Then again, Jaune just had his ass kicked by common thieves, so maybe they were actually right to pack that much heat.

"C'mon." Kaz laughed, "Surely the place isn't that bad. We do a lot of cleaning around here."

The smile slowly returned on Jaune's face. The place was old and beat-up, but the faunus families who lived here maintained it as well they could. When the children he'd given horse rides to had left for school, some of the parents even went up to him and thanked him profusely.

It felt nice.

"Guess that's true." replied Jaune. "You guys are really doing some good work, helping them out."

 _He's sincere?,_ "Heh, it means a lot, coming from you." smiled Kaz as he inconspicuously sheathed his weapon. "It's not easy getting refugees and everyone settled, but we try."

"Refugees?"

Kaz raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, we err, get a lot of refugees coming in from places where the discrimination is exceptionally bad, even worse than it is here."

"Huh." Jaune sighed. Once again, people were suffering and his Family and other heroes were trying to solve it, and here he was doing nothing. Was he fated to be the damsel in distress or a bystander his whole life?

He laid a hand on Albus' head.

No response.

 _I could've sworn I'd felt something._

"Come to think of it, what were you doing before I dropped by?" asked Kaz. Jaune was riding his horse and cajoling him to do something for the better part of an hour now.

Jaune ran his fingers through his hair, "Uhh, heh, it's nothing, Kaz."

"Certainly doesn't seem like nothing, come on, we're friends right?" Kaz resisted the urge to grab his weapon again.

Jaune sighed. On one hand, he would make himself look like a loser, but on the other hand, since Kaz had unlocked his aura, he might be able to help him.

 _Discovering my semblance would be worth it_ , Jaune had decided.

"I was trying to activate my semblance." Jaune admitted. "It has something to do with my horse."

The gears in Kaz' head whirred even quicker than usual.

 _He fended off attackers that could beat Adam_ _ **without**_ _his semblance?! Relying only on skill and aura?_

Kaz swore mentally. Just because this human, this Arc, was a nice guy didn't mean he wasn't dangerous.

Still, his orders were to win him over right?

"Wait, wait, hold up. Could you explain more about the horse thing? Go back from the beginning."

"I was in a fight once." admitted Jaune, "And I felt my aura _stretch_ to Albus, giving him more power. I think my semblance is to enhance the aura of animals I ride."

Many people with unlocked auras usually never truly found their semblances, and even then, people with semblances never truly unlocked the full potential of their semblances. The Schnee for example, had hereditary (how can the soul be hereditary?) semblances, but some Schnee never learned to Summon, for example.

Kaz never unlocked his semblance, but he did read some books on the subject.

"Try flaring your aura. Make it stretch, just like how you remember it felt like." instructed the faunus.

Jaune mounted Albus, and with a calm expression, _glowed._

Kaz resisted the urge to gape. He'd never seen so much aura before, the Arcs really were monsters. This was so beyond Huntsman-in-Training Level it wasn't funny. He was willing to bet it was Veteran Huntsman Level, at least.

"It doesn't feel like anything's different." frowned Jaune.

"Well, maybe the horse feels different, but it just can't speak." answered Kaz.

Jaune got off the horse. "I got an idea, Kaz."

"What is it?"

Jaune looked Kaz in the eye; his intense gaze burning through the aviators as he told his erstwhile companion his cunning stratagem

"Let me ride you."

Jaune placed heavy hands on Kaz' shoulders before the faunus could respond.

Kaz began to sputter. Jaune's face betrayed no emotion.

 _Oh shit, he's got me, I can't get away!_ screamed Kaz' mind. Come to think of it, if he weren't so flabbergasted, he probably would have screamed. He was a fool to let down his weapon!

"Let me ride you, like, on your back." Jaune said.

"Wait, what?" Kaz eloquently, and tactfully responded, demonstrating the superior intellect of the faunus race.

Jaune took his confusion for approval, smiled, and jumped on Kaz' back.

Before Kaz could struggle at the new weight on his shoulders, Jaune flared his aura.

 _It was... intense_ , Keppel Azure would later recall. His aura was full when he met Jaune, but all of a sudden he could feel his reserves double, no, _triple!_ He didn't feel Jaune's weight on his shoulders, and thought the kid had jumped off, but no, with the newfound power in his limbs, Jaune literally became too light for him to lift.

"So..?" Jaune inquired, holding his hair as if it were reins.

"Empowering _mounted animals_ , huh?" remarked Kaz, voice dry, faunus fox ears twitching in irritation.

In the later years of his life, Keppel Azure Miller would fondly remark that suplexing the Supreme Commander with his own aura was where the legend all began. He had used up his savings to have books penned, and statues made to commemorate that dearest memory.

No one believed him.

* * *

 **Present**

Weapons drawn, he made a beeline for the fallen Miltiades, as Melanie held her own at the blonde.

Thankfully, the girl in red wasn't seriously injured, however she was dangerously low on aura.

Aura was a strange thing. At higher levels, it served as a forcefield and hardened in response to trauma and danger, but when it was low, even if your body was fine, you were debilitated.

If a full aura made you feel you were Superman, then aura in the red made you feel like Superman with Kryptonite shoved up his bum and chained to a red sun that was on a collision course with a black hole.

Simply put, it felt like a run-of-the-mill hangover.

A common misconception was that low aura simply led to Huntsmen being reduced to normal human levels of performance, but it didn't work like that. Aura wasn't some sort of armor you could just remove.

Miltiades bore no visible wounds and barely had any bruises from the short exchange, but Jaune knew that unless he helped her, she was going to be out cold due to aura exhaustion. She could barely stand.

Miltia's eyes were desperately looking over to where her sister held off the blonde vandal; dearly wishing she could support her twin, whilst cursing herself that she'd been caught off guard.

"Miltia!" Jaune cried out. Her sea-green orbs met his sky-blue eyes. "Lie on your stomach! I'm going to ride you!"

Miltia blinked. She was hallucinating wasn't she? Had blondie punched her that hard? I mean Jaune was cute but he wasn't –

Jaune snapped a glance at Melanie, who was barely holding off the girl who wrecked the club. _Damn it, he didn't have time, and Miltiades was barely responsive, he didn't have time to make it comfortable for her._

Jaune decided he would just apologize later. Focusing aura on his legs, he made a mighty leap and dove at the prone girl.

Miltiades didn't even have time to scream as the full weight of a Jaune Arc, decked in heavy armor, with a surprisingly heavy sword and shield set, and the momentum of an aura-powered leap came barreling down on her slender form so hard it left another small crater on the abused dance floor.

Right before the veritable meteor struck, Miltia, always the optimist of the two, chuckled weakly. At least she could tell her sister that the knight in shining armor _fell_ for her when they reunited in the afterlife.

Melanie's silver bladed heels clashed with the golden gauntlets employed by their attacker.

Sea-green eyes narrowed. She held the advantage up close, and her opponent didn't seem too good at dealing with kicks as compared to punches, however, her golden enemy definitely held the edge when it came to power and aura.

Melanie couldn't afford to let the battle draw on. She just didn't have the aura reserves necessary to beat goldilocks in a battle of attrition.

She needed a decisive blow.

She began feinting and changing up her stance in an attempt to confuse her opponent.

While aura in general served as a forcefield and an augmentation to the body's physical capabilities, it wasn't all automatic and involuntary.

Sucker punches did more damage than regular punches thrown at a person who was expecting it. Aside from the added confusion, the element of surprise ensured that the person on the receiving end also wasn't prepared to take it, and so he was unbraced to take the blow both physically and mentally.

Experience had taught her aura was the same. If you knew you had to take a blow at a specific part of your body, just as your muscles would instinctively tense up and your body would try to move away; your aura would condense at that specific point to try and absorb the damage.

If you took a blow while you were unprepared, your aura would still flare in defense, but it would be nowhere as strong as it would be as compared to if you were expecting it.

She switched stances from right to left, left to right. Her opponent followed, trying to ensure her guard was in place to meet her dominant leg.

Sparks flew as she made a flurry of quick kicks, the kicky-equivalent of a jab, at the gauntlets of her foe, goading her to take the bait.

And take the bait goldilocks did.

Melanie had suddenly broken her rhythm while blondie was in the middle of switching her stance, launching a roundhouse kick aimed at her face.

The timing was perfect.

Except that instead of switching her stance, goldilocks continued turning, and with that momentum, spun to evade the kick to counter with an elbow at her midsection.

 _Fuck!_ Melanie staggered, and goldilocks swooped in for a kill –

– Until a red claw appeared out of nowhere and swiped at blondie, forcing the girl to widen her lilac eyes and jump back.

"Miltia?!" exclaimed Melanie at the sight of her twin. She'd thought that her twin was down for the count. Miltia's aura was back to green and she looked fresh, like she didn't just take a shotgun-powered fist to the chest.

Strangely though, her whole face was flushed nearly as red as her dress, but Melanie paid it no mind.

With an irritated growl, their blonde adversary had charged at them again, fists poised to knock another one of them out.

CLANG!

Except instead of meeting a jaw or a temple, her right gauntlet had met, with a resounding clang, a white shield emblazoned with twin golden moons.

Despite putting his entire weight on the shield, Jaune Arc still skidded back some considerable amount; but it wasn't a biggy.

Jaune had a huge grin on his face as he raised his weapons to a defensive stance. _His semblance had worked! He was able to refill Miltia's aura!_

Oh, and it turns out he didn't actually need to mount her. Nope, his semblance still worked when his face fell smack dab into Miltia's chest.

He probably shouldn't have remarked that her chest was much smaller than it looked.

 _So it probably just needs physical contact._ Jaune mused. The red imprint of a slap on his cheek would ensure he remember that.

Blondie's lilac eyes darted back and forth across each of them. There were three enemies for her now, and she finally appeared unsure about her chances.

Jaune could take the most punishment out of all of them. Shield raised high, Jaune strode forward slowly, while the twins followed several steps behind him, Melanie at his right and Miltia at his left.

Regardless of who blondie struck at, Jaune would be able to tank the hit while the twins were close enough to exploit any openings he would be able to pry open. With his aura firmly in the green, thanks to his semblance, the twins' staying power was nearly tripled; they could literally do this all night.

If a huntsman could slay a hundred Grimm, then by healing huntsmen, a healer could slay millions.

Echoing footsteps resounded behind blondie as the music changed yet again.

"You're gonna pay for this." Junior declared, his bazooka-club (bazooklub?) hoisted on a shoulder.

Blondie's eyes widened as Jaune grinned. The big man was no slouch. She was sandwiched now. If she stood still, then the advance of Jaune, the Twins, and Junior would surround her. If she attacked, she'd leave herself open to attacks from all other directions.

Too bad for her, there was more to come.

More footsteps, running and plentiful this time, were heard from the bar's entrance.

Men armed with pistols, rifles, riot shields and body armor had begun surrounding blondie.

"You! The Yellow One, freeze!" shouted a Vale Police Department Officer. The man had a camera on his uniform.

 _Right on cue_ , smirked Jaune. He'd called for the V.P.D as soon as the fighting broke out. Even if blondie managed to win, then at least the cops would be able to stop her mad rampage. The Club's security cameras were able to take in her appearance and weapons, and no doubt Junior would turn them over if it meant payback.

Huntsman weapons tended to be distinctive after all, as expressions of the self and extensions of their souls, and the fact that combat schools taught people to forge their own customized weapons. You could probably look far and wide, and you wouldn't see two weapons that were totally alike.

From the looks of pleasant surprise on Junior's and the Malachite Twins' faces, they realized it too.

Still, Jaune had to give her some credit. She had simply steeled herself and raised her gauntlets in a fighting stance. Jaune blinked, was her hair glowing?

"Yang? Yang is that you?" came a small, high-pitched voice behind him.

Lilac eyes widened in shock.

Jaune swore, _how the hell did the cops let a little girl enter a crime scene?_

It was foolishness, but _damn it_ , he wasn't going to let innocent people get stuck in the crossfire. He turned his head back.

"You need to get out of here!" he called out to the red-hooded girl. Pointing his sword back at blondie, he continued, "She's dangerous!"

Paying him little heed, little red riding hood had tried to get closer, but was detained by the cops.

"No, you don't understand!" Hood had reasoned out. "She's my sister!"

Jaune did a double-take, in case blondie's blow somehow rattled him through his shield and made him color-blind. Blonde hair? Nope. Body shape? Nope. Eye Color? Nope.

"You're her sister, then?" growled one of the policemen, "Then I'm afraid you're coming with us."

The way the cops were restraining the red-hooded girl lent further credence that no way were these two related. Accomplices perhaps? Jaune groaned, he didn't know many people his age, but damn, with the exception of the twins, his generation already seemed to kind of suck.

Shaking his head, Jaune once more raised his shield only to hear –

"I surrender!" cried the blonde fighter, removing her gauntlets and raising her hands frantically in the air. "Please don't take her! I swear she's not involved in this!"

 _What the fuck?_

Jaune's eyes bulged, and behind him, he could hear one of the twins swear in disbelieving tones. What the hell was going on? Blondie did a full 180. Her face was actually really concerned and nervous. You mean they were actually sisters? Or was this her secret girlfriend or something? Was she possessed by some malevolent, or in her case, benevolent entity? What? _What?_

"Yang?! Yaaaang?!" cried out Red as the cops cuffed her, "What are you doing here? What's going on?!"

"Ruby! Sis! Oh my God, I'm so sorr –" she never finished that sentence as she was tackled mid-apology by a particularly fat officer. Seeing the main perp down, like a band of gamers on the last, best piece of gear did the rest of the policemen join in, stun-batons and riot shields at the ready.

Blondie didn't resist, except she growled when they touched her hair. Other cops carefully picked up her discarded gauntlets.

With cries of "Yaaaaang?" and "Don't you touch my hair, or I swear I'l..." were Red and Blondie escorted out of the Club.

Junior shrugged, smug smile plastered on his face. The Malachite Twins shared a look, then shrugged as well. Miltiades retracted her claws, and Melanie stretched out a few sore muscles.

Jaune lowered his weapons, and finally allowed himself to relax.

As anticlimactic that was, he figured he finally won a victory. Given how the remaining cops brought out notebooks and clipboards, he figured he was in here for awhile.

He may as well finish the milk and peanuts.

* * *

"And that's what happened, sir." finished Jaune.

"Attacked... by... crazy bitch." wrote the policeman in his notes. As expected, the cops then began taking their statements, as well as those of the guests. In addition to that, Junior had, after editing out the footage of him speaking to a man in a bowler hat, eagerly given the police access to the surveillance camera records.

He was legit, after all.

"Well done, Burnie, go take five." said an authoritative woman's voice. The policeman stood to comply. Jaune took a better look at the speaker.

The woman that had entered looked to be at her 20's-30's, and while she wore the typical white shirt and black tie the other detectives wore, she had also worn body armor and a brown trench coat over it. She had short brown hair, and her face was rather plain looking, but what really struck Jaune were her intense, green eyes, framed by boring looking square glasses.

"Jade Gordon. V.P.D. Commissioner." She had stuck out her hand.

"Jaune Arc." Jaune shook her hand. Her grip was strong, but not overpowering.

Commissioner Gordon had taken a seat on the bar stool adjacent to his. He never imagined he'd be giving statements in the bar of a shady nightclub.

"I heard about what you did." Gordon's voice broke the silence. "That was a rather brave thing you did. Damage to this place would've been worse had you not intervened."

Jaune felt his cheeks heat up at the praise. "Really, Commissioner, it was the Twins that did most of the –"

"Which is why I'm sorry to say that all your efforts were wasted." continued Gordon solemnly.

"Wait, what?"

Gordon dropped two pictures on the bar. They were pictures, pictures of Blondie and Red.

"Their names are Yang Xiao Long, and Ruby Rose respectively." Gordon continued, voice blunt as a sledgehammer, "We'll try to get the blonde one sent to a youth detention center due to vandalism amounting to thousands of lien's worth of damages, but I don't really see it happening."

"Why so?" Jaune inquired, "There were also civilians injured by the damages she caused, surely we can't just let her go with just a slap on the wrist?"

Gordon sighed, _so naive, this boy_ , "Because these two girls happen to be daughters of a hunter by name of Taiyang Xiao Long. In addition to that, Goldilocks, over here" Gordon pointed at Yang's picture, "Is slated to enter Beacon this semester."

"I don't understand, what does this have to do with anything?" Jaune asked, repressing his newfound jealousy at his fellow blonde.

Gordon sighed, time to tell the boy that Santa wasn't real. "Look, kid. You're aware of the primary purpose why huntsmen exist right?"

"To serve as humanity's bulwark against the Grimm." Jaune had dutifully recited, "To die that others may live."

Gordon had noted Jaune's memorization of the Huntsman's mission, and continued, "There we go. That's the view taken by Ozpin and the Councils as well. Simply put, in their words, "Ms. Xiao Long's life would be better spent training and fighting the Grimm than wasting her time rotting in a correctional center." Our need for security against the Grimm outweighs our need for security against those who allegedly protect us from the Grimm, I'm afraid." Gordon lit a cigarette.

"B-but that's not fair!" protested Jaune. "Does this mean that huntsmen can just do whatever they want and the police won't do a thing?"

"More or less, although they're answerable only to other Huntsmen." Gordon took a puff. "Kid, if we detained her, and her father came after us; there's not much we can do against a Veteran Huntsman. If Ozpin or anyone from Beacon heard of her detainment and told us to let her go, neither can we do anything against that."

Jaune ran his hands through his hair in exasperation. It added up. He'd remembered conversations regarding those topics back home as well, when his Sisters argued over policies.

"Sorry, kid." Gordon's eyes were sincere. "But huntsmen run most of the show now. The V.P.D. simply deals with matters noted to be below their concern, like robberies, vandalism, or the White Fang."

"Wait, what about the White Fang?" questioned Jaune. "What have they done?"

The Commissioner merely sighed yet again as she took off her glasses and massaged the bridge of her nose.

 _This was going to be a long night._

* * *

She really did feel bad about that, but some worldviews had to be shattered.

She'd ended up giving the kid an impromptu history lesson. Apparently, the kid had only known the Old Fang and not what was now a terrorist group.

Somehow, he didn't look very surprised, merely very disappointed.

"If I may, Commissioner," spoke Light Yagami, "You've... divulged plenty of information to the boy. May I know why?"

Yagami was a bright lad. Tad too zealous and idealistic at times, but he made up for it in skill.

Gordon lit another cigarette, "The boy's been spotted in slums suspected to house members of the White Fang. At the same time, Hei Xiong Junior's been suspected to write up fake transcripts to Hunter Academies like Beacon. Finally, the boy's an Arc."

Yagami was silent, processing this information.

"When I spoke to him, the ignorance he had towards the Fang and the Huntsmen were genuine." Gordon blew smoke into the air, "Wanted to see if he was a threat or an opportunity."

"An opportunity, Commissioner?"

"He's no bigot, but he's expressed horror at the Fang's methods. He wants to be a hunter, but detests the privilege and lack of checks and balances they have." Gordon threw away the cigarette, "And if what I suspect is right, he's willing to do what he thinks should be done regardless of whether it's legal or not. Do you understand now?"

"I see, Commissioner." Light's brown eyes lit up. "He's a potential ally, he fights against what he perceives to be wrong regardless of what his aspirations are, or where his loyalties are supposed to lie. Should he actually be a part of the Fang, or the Huntsmen he'll serve as a moderating factor. Finally, his own status as a member of the Arc Family would provide us with some political clout and connections."

"Indeed," The Commissioner stated. "Still, this is what we know of him from one conversation. We'd best keep an eye on him."

"Understood, Commissioner."

Commissioner Jade Gordon took a whiff of her cigarette. Something was happening, she could feel it. The White Fang had just finished a successful raid off an SDC Freight Train passing through Forever Fall, and that's where the boy said he had passed from. Roman Torchwick was robbing dust left and right, and they were tipped off that he would be at The Club, and lo and behold, who did she find instead?

Background checks, past combat schools, everything was empty. Jaune Arc was, for all intents and purposes, a ghost.

She should probably check in with Glynda Goodwitch if he had submitted any fake transcripts, but she was likely not going to get a response from the woman.

 _Who are you really, kid?_

She blew smoke into the chilly night air.

It was getting cold.

* * *

"What do you mean we're doing nothing?!" Kaz slammed his fists on the table. "Ironwood's stripped the security of one of Remnant's largest slave labor camps to a skeleton crew, and we're not doing anything?!"

"Adam's orders." gruffly responded the Lieutenant, "Ironwood's moving elements of the Atlesian Army to Vale in preparation for the Vytal Festival, leaving 'less-important' facilities understaffed for a few weeks. There's only a small window of opportunity to attack it before the next Atlesian Knight production run finishes and it's reinforced."

The Lieutenant leaned on the table, the light hanging overhead contrasted the shadows of his mask, giving him even more of a grim appearance.

"We cannot attack it, even if we wanted to."

Kaz was grinding his teeth. Because of the recent attack by, and on Adam, the SDC redoubled its efforts to eradicate them. The Valean White Fang split up, and was laying low. Even if Adam Taurus himself rallied the Fang now, it would take weeks at best, and months at most to get any kind of force prepared.

As it stood now, if he were to grab whatever forces he had available; he would have less than a hundred men, and a couple of bullheads. It would be enough to transport his forces to the labor camp, but definitely not enough to rescue any significant fraction of the faunus there, let alone defeat the security forces.

"What about the Redwings Group?" asked Kaz. "They've got resources, have we tried asking them?"

"They're complying with Adam's orders to stay put. Yes, they have airships, yes, they would likely assist you, but most are noncombatants. Would you really put medics, doctors, and nurses on the frontlines, Miller?"

"For our brothers and sisters, yes I would!" came the furious reply.

"Then you are a fool." The Lieutenant spat out. "Those healers ensure our actual soldiers, our future, remain alive to fight another day. You plan to sacrifice the future for something that may not even succeed in the present."

"But we can't just abandon them!" exclaimed Kaz, "You know how many faunus die in those camps. You know how they're treated. We can't do nothing!"

"We can." declared the Lieutenant with finality, "And we have to. We are the hope of faunuskind. Should we fall, then our revolution is finished. Things will revert as to how they were in Menagerie. We stand as a deterrent to those who would oppress the faunus, and we accomplish that if we live than if we die."

Kaz clenched his fists. He knew the Lieutenant's reasoning was sound, but... how could they grasp the future if they couldn't save the present?

"It would still take us a significant force to take Camp Omega even if it is manned by a skeleton crew. A force we cannot assemble, or afford to assemble." The Lieutenant shook his head. "Will you still proceed?"

Kaz' fists remained tightly clenched. "I have to. Even if it fails, we have to show the world that the White Fang wouldn't back down and do nothing in the face of this injustice. We can't do nothing."

The Lieutenant merely stared at him unnervingly from behind his mask. "If you will not serve your orders; then maybe you'll serve better as a martyr."

Kaz met the Lieutenant's stare with a glare, "We won't be martyrs; we'll make it."

The Lieutenant merely chuckled, "Take anyone who would volunteer."

Kaz stopped. Did he hear that right?

"It's best the White Fang be rid of all the idiots with stars and not reality in their eyes."

Kaz stormed out of the building.

* * *

"Goddammit!" Kaz swore.

The biggest opportunity the White Fang had to liberate several thousands of faunus, and they were watching it just fly by as if it were some kid looking out the window, mocking people on the street.

But no one close enough could assemble a force powerful enough to take that opportunity. Kaz himself was a popular man, and at most, could rally maybe two hundred, and some bullheads.

They were people who had joined the Fang with him, years ago.

Kaz had joined the White Fang because he thought they were heroes trying to make Remnant a better place.

He had stood with his brothers and sisters back in the rallies, raising his voice and his banners faithfully.

None of them then had known how powerful the anti-faunus sentiment was.

The Huntsmen, the Schnee, and the people all had reasons to fear, remain apathetic to, or hate them, and the Councils, being the doormats they were, bent over backwards to accommodate them.

Kaz and his friends were some of the first to grab weapons.

Yet, instead of challenging and liberating forced labor camps, freeing political prisoners, and carving out a new life for themselves as a people; they were, at the most, a thorn in the sides of the Schnee, the Huntsmen, and the people.

What use was taking down one train's shipment of dust, when the Schnee would simply raise prices to ensure their profits didn't fall? After all, what were the people going to do, stop using dust? When the SDC provided the majority?

The White Fang also wasn't a uniform group, but rather a collection of groups rallying under several common leaders, of which Adam Taurus was one. Naturally, when they'd turned to violence, there was collateral damage in the lives of innocents lost.

The Huntsmen had gleefully used that as justification to train more people, and to grant them more power, more free reign.

The people had started treating faunus better, but it was treatment born out of fear, not understanding. The better treatment would only last while the White Fang had guns trained on them.

Kaz slammed his fist on the nearest wall to his right. He ignored the pain. It was just a fucking downward spiral; their only options to succeed were to somehow get all their enemies to just stop, or to just damn it all to hell and kill them all.

Adam Taurus seemed to be angling for the latter.

After all this violence, they were still no closer to solving discrimination, still no closer to being accepted as equals, no closer to being able to shut down the labor camps.

After all this violence, it seemed like they were just as far from their objective as they were when they were staging peaceful protests.

Kaz looked to the night sky, as if it could give him some answers.

 _If only, heroes were real._

 _If only, they'd had enough men, enough support, enough power to overwhelm some half-empty labor camp facility._

 _Strange_ , thought Kaz, the smoke and light coming from the city obscured much of the stars, but it also hid the shattered parts of the moon. It was a clear crescent tonight, and it shined a bright yellow, almost like gold.

A golden crescent moon.

Then it hit him.

Power was the first thing they lacked. They couldn't afford to take the labor camp, designated Camp Omega, despite the fact that it was going to be undermanned. Adam's group was in hiding, and the other groups were either too weak.

Time was the second. Ironwood was confident enough to leave a well-fortified facility, well, in this case, more of a fortress than a facility, undermanned, as the next production run of the new Atlesian Knight model was expected to finish, and arrive in a few weeks. There was only more or less a week's worth of time to prepare a force powerful enough to take over, or at least stall the facility so they could rescue the faunus within.

Last, was motive. While liberating thousands of faunus in itself was pretty high up the White Fang's list of goals; to many within, it was by no means the first. The Fang was composed of multiple groups, some more violent than the others. He, and other faunus within the cities were said to be idealists, while the groups that joined Adam and the others were those who had personal grudges against their foes. The former were dwindling, and the latter growing; and thus the Fang decided to prioritize striking at their foes as compared to liberating faunus, and reintegrating them back into whatever passed for normal lives these days.

Kaz realized he knew someone that had all three.

 _He_ had the power to fend off attackers even Adam, the strongest person Kaz knew, couldn't defeat. _He_ was said to wield strange and awesome powers by all those that had seen him fight. _He_ had aura that rivaled that of Veteran Huntsmen, and this Kaz had verified himself.

 _He_ was in Vale, this very city, right now.

Kaz had no doubt that if he knew his friends were in trouble, he would come charging to help.

 _Because to him, strangers were friends he hadn't met yet._

* * *

 **Chapter 4 End**

 **AN:** Another cumbersome chapter. I know I'm sounding like a broken record, but I swear, the action legit starts next chapter! Also, yes, I genderbent a James Gordon just so I could include a Commissioner Gordon in this story. The guy is practically the posterboy for good cops that assist the hero, which should tell you all you really need to know about her role here. Again, I apologize for the OC's, these should be the last ones in awhile.


	6. Chapter 5: Dust Gear Arc

**A** **N: I used some character names from other such media in order to take advantage of preexisting notions and bias. To those who had found it annoying instead of amusing, I would like to apologize. I hope further uses, if ever (oh who am I kidding), will be more subtle and assist in the immersion of the story.**

 **I'm also sorry for the late reply. Things have been hectic, lately.**

 **To the people still reading this, thank you for not giving up on me and this story. You guys are the best.**

* * *

 **Arc of the Revolution**

 **Chapter 5: Dust Gear Arc**

* * *

Kingfish Azalea "Kaz" Miller of House Miller waited with great anticipation atop his mighty horse, beside the other Arc bannermen as they awaited for their august lord to arrive.

It had been hours since their lord, Arc Lord Julius Arc had descended to the Arc Great Forge of Arc, through the arch of victory, to arcly forge an Arc weapon in the Arc style that he might do battle with his Archenemy, who had dared encroach upon the Arclands.

"What's taking the guy?" mused Kaz.

A great light suddenly shone, lighting up the _afternoon_ so bright even a blind man would go epileptic.

"MY GLORIOUS COMPANIONS!" boomed the great voice of Julius Arc, as the large man strode into the clearing, ignoring his faithful bannermen spasming, and making mud angels on the dirt, " _Kept you waiting, huh_? Well, no longer!"

The man lifted his new weapon; a blade so obnoxiously bright it threatened to blind Kaz, and everyone else still capable of seeing only double. The rest were either blinded for life, or were seeing four Lords Arc, both fates were equally horrible.

 _My domain for shaded spectacles or some other innovation_ , Kingfish Azalea had thought.

"Milord it ... appears to be but a mundane blade." Lady Arturia Bluedragon, one of the few still on their warhorses, mentioned.

"It only appears to be mundane," smiled Lord Arc as he brandished the blade, "But it is forged of an alloy of the rarest White Dust, and the greatest of metals known to man; but that is not all..."

Julius Arc brought out a sheath of similar make.

Lady Arturia's eyes widened. Legends spoke of faerie-enchanted sheaths able to turn aside age and death through constant healing and regeneration. 'Twas but a tale, but the Maidens were real; did Lord Julius Arc manage to create Avalo –

Schwing, Schwing.

Arturia blinked. The sheath turned into a shield.

"BEHOLD!" cried out the Lord, "This newfangled mecha-shift technology allows me to turn this sheath to a shield, back and forth."

"Julie –" Kaz had tried to speak.

"Just as we rehearsed." Julius had interrupted, naked violence burning in his eyes. Kaz coughed.

"My Lord of Star – ARC!" Kaz quickly corrected, "Our enemy Vercingetorix Arverni has, using the same mecha-shift technology, forged a greatsword with a cannon on it! Moreover, his weapon can even harness the power of dust, nature's wrath, itself!"

"... So?" Schwing, schwing.

Fighting the urge to dig a hole and just bury himself in it, Kaz tried reasoning further, "Won't you be at a disadvantage with but a shield and sword?"

"It's also a sheath." corrected Lady Arturia as Julius nodded.

Kaz buried his face with his hands. No wonder anyone with an ounce of common sense quit this war, found smoking hot faunus wives and or husbands and headed off to warm, sunny Vacuo.

They were sending him postcards, _dammit_. Postcards of them lounging around on idyllic beaches with white sands, surrounded by bevies of scantily-clad _literal_ fox girls, cat girls and bunny girls serving them drinks, fanning them, and _FEEDING THEM GRAPES, GODDAMMIT._

Seeing his liege lord laugh like a donkey while playing around with his sword, Kaz mused.

 _Maybe it isn't too late to join them._

Excerpt taken from a series of journals excavated in the Old Arc Manor

* * *

 **Present**

If someone asked fox faunus Keppel Azure "Kaz" Miller what he was thinking as he rode the bullhead to certain death, he would respond with variations of "What was I thinking?", "Oh, God is it too late to turn back?" and "No, I can't give up. We can win this! _He's_ with us after all!"

While Kaz was fidgeting, the other occupant, Jaune Arc, simply sat there; chin leaning on his sheathed sword, the very picture of a perfect knight, of an ancient hero.

Jaune's very composure was a godsend to Kaz. They were able to secure two civilian airships from the Redwings Group, and managed to convince around sixty to a hundred men to join them, most of said men being doctors and medics.

They expected a heavy amount of injured among the faunus they were to rescue.

Their total force numbered somewhere from a hundred to two hundred men, half of them medics, enough bullheads to transport them, and two reinforced, albeit unarmed airships.

Even with reduced numbers, the Atlesian garrison, not counting combat droids, still outnumbered them at worst, and matched them at best. Their chances ranged from, "Can maybe do it if we get lucky" to "Pigs may as well fucking fly".

But if someone as obviously experienced as Jaune Arc was calm, and even eager, if the way he looked out the window often was any indication, that meant they had good chances of succeeding, right? _right?_

Jaune, on the other hand, was thinking of very different things.

Jaune subtly forced his aura down his throat and stomach. _Don't puke, don't puke, don't puke, don't don't puke puke don't..._ repeating like a mantra. _Sweet Dust on a stick_ , how did his sisters, just as motion-sick as he, manage to travel as often as they did?

Earlier, a voice in his head told him to eat up, because he likely had a day full of nerve-wracking fighting ahead of him.

 _Curses, the voice fooled me again!_ , wailed Jaune, as a heavy, vengeful breakfast, primarily Pumpkin Pete's, flailed around in his stomach. The tiny heads of that girl on the box threatened to melt his innards until he gave them their freedom.

Jaune was pretty sure the heads had grown arms and legs and were squirming around in his body, like acid-belching centipedes. Probably revenge for chewing and crushing them with his teeth like a shattered statue.

Heh.

Come to think of it, this whole situation was fucked up. Didn't Commissioner Jade Gordon just warn him that the White Fang were bloody terrorists? How had he gotten in this mess, again?!

* * *

 **Last Night**

Kaz would learn that it was extremely easy to find Jaune.

You just had to follow the smoke, gunfire, and property damage.

That, and Jaune's description really stood out. White horse? Blonde hair? Frayed, heroic white cloak? White plate armor? Someone who used a gleaming white sword and shield _that weren't also guns_ in this day and age?

When Kaz first heard about the brawl, he winced sympathetically for Junior. Huntsmen and alcohol were a recipe for destruction, probably written by a sexually-repressed cook on hard drugs.

He'd also heard that the cops managed to bag two huntresses (or was that huntresses-in-training? probably huntresses) with Jaune's assistance. _Tsk, good luck on actually pressing charges against the 'defenders of humanity'._

No wonder insurance companies had clauses on places frequented by Huntsmen. Whose good idea was it to give hormone-fueled, edgy, emotional teens weapons that rivaled modern artillery, and super powers, again?

Kaz looked up. Junior's club looked surprisingly stable for a place that had been struck by an Act of God, aka drunken huntresses. He didn't hear many details about the fight, but _damn_ , it looked like Jaune did an excellent job beating the shit out of the huntresses.

 _He really, really fucking needed Jaune_.

"...eel free to stay in one of the VIP rooms, kid." Kaz heard Junior's voice as he entered the Club. "We owe you, bigtime."

"Like, bigtime." an obnoxious, accented voice had said.

"Like, no. You tried to sit on me!" another voice had continued.

"Really, kid." Junior's voice had continued, undeterred, "Won't be getting much in the way of business til I fix the Club. Feel free to stay."

"Riiight, and we'll, like, see how you feel when he starts riding you in your sleep."

"Like, and you want him around in case they come back, don't you?"

It was then that Kaz felt someone approach him from behind.

"Got business with Junior?" drawled one of the big man's bouncers. Kaz didn't need to look behind him to know that they had their weapons on them.

"I don't know if that's a thing with faunus hearing." drawled the other, "but eavesdropping is kind of wrong. 'Sides, you can't talk to Junior all the way here, can you?"

Kaz shrugged, and complied when they pushed him towards the bar where Jaune and Junior were.

The conversation had ended when they spotted him.

Two sets of sea-green eyes narrowed, and with their noses pointed derisively in the air, the twins left. Kaz had no doubt they'd secretly be listening in and ready to deal with him if he became a threat.

Jaune, and Junior merely looked at him passively, until Jaune sighed and asked, "Why are you here, Kaz?"

Gears ran on overdrive in the fox faunus' mind. Jaune was perceptive, and beyond intelligent. He was also powerful enough to repel people who _Fucking Adam_ considered threats, and managed to defeat and capture, if his intel was correct, not one, but _two_ freaking huntresses, with minimal damage to Junior's club.

 _He needed Jaune._

The number one thing Kaz was banking on, was that Jaune Arc was someone who really wanted to help.

He needed to be earnest, and honest. Such an experienced warrior as Jaune would see through any falsehoods.

Kaz spoke, "I need your help."

Jaune's face remained impassive, and replied, "You're terrorists."

"Yes." Kaz responded evenly. He didn't know why, but for some reason, he had entertained a small idea that maybe Jaune didn't know that they dabbled in terrorism.

Seriously, what was he thinking? Damn gut feeling.

 _God._ Kaz thought, _I'm never underestimating this guy again._

Kaz removed his sunglasses. The faunus nightvision offset the darkness of his aviators at night. Unlike his namesake from the video games, his eyes weren't hurt by bright lights.

Meeting Jaune's blue eyes with his own, he continued, "I need your help to save these people."

He handed Jaune a scroll.

* * *

Jaune took the scroll, and began going through the opened images as Junior watched.

The first image, actually a video, was that of a small blonde child wearing sunglasses, sitting on the lap of a fox faunus woman.

"You were wearing those things since you were a kid?" asked Junior.

Jaune pressed play.

"I'm a buff baby that can dance like a man! I can shake-a my fanny I can shake-a my can!" sang the diminutive future terrorist.

"Wait, shit. Not those pictures, next folder! Next folder!" cried Kaz

"Hold on, kid." Junior mentioned, "This might be good blackmail material."

Jaune scrolled over to the next folder, and opened image by image.

The images started out simple. It was a... military base nestled among snowy mountains, high walls complete with large anti-air emplacements, barbed wire, large number of vents belching smoke into the air, large buildings, columns and rows of neatly stacked squares that were probably housing, along with landing pads for bullheads and even an airship or two.

Jaune scrolled to the next image. The text simply showed a map of a place called "Camp Omega".

Junior had let out a heavy breath and stood up. The big man walked to the bar.

Next image. Jaune's eyes narrowed.

Lots of faunus, thin, skin tinted with sickly pallor, dressed in some sort of uniform in various states of disrepair, all carrying different types of mining equipment, were walking in a line.

Their bodies were all malnourished, moreover, some bodies sported signs of physical abuse, bruises and the like. Jaune noted that observation.

Next image.

It was a jail mess hall, if Jaune saw it correctly. Guards were stationed by every door, and packing rifles. Faunus with the same uniforms were eating what looked to be bread with some gray paste and water.

Jaune scrolled to the next picture, and his breath hitched in his throat.

There were... bodies.

Faunus bodies.

The picture seemed to be some sort of impoverished medical ward with bodies placed down on cardboard on the floor; while others were sharing hospital beds.

Some bodies had body parts missing and/or flesh burnt off of them. One small girl with dog ears in particular had half her face burnt off. Others were charred, cooked, roasted.

Most were dead, others were alive, Jaune could tell as some apparently still had enough presence of mind to stare unnervingly at the camera with sunken eyes.

The picture's name was "Red Dust".

 _Explosions_ , Jaune realized, _these people had been close to explosions._

The next image was named "Blue Dust".

The medical ward again.

Faunus had frozen to death, their lips, facial features, and complexions pale and lifeless.

Some corpses were whole, others were missing fingers and toes, or in some cases, whole limbs. Probably due to frostbite.

There were faunus who were still frozen solid, their expressions those of unmasked horror, their arms raised protectively in front of them as if it could stop the dust.

Other faunus seemed to be in ... 'relatively' better condition, with only limbs, particularly arms sporting signs of accidents with blue dust.

Jaune cringed, some of those limbs were too far frostbitten to keep. Others were already rife with the sickening colors of gangrene; they'd need to be removed.

"Yellow Dust". Electrocution through contact with a fractured piece of yellow dust crystals. Some bodies were as burnt and charred, cooked in their own juices as the Red Dust picture. Other faunus were alive, with the only sign of their suffering being their nerves standing out a dark blue against their skin.

Despite revulsion and disgust shaking his very being, Jaune moved on to the next picture, named "Escapees".

The medical ward again, only this time, there were what looked to be medics or doctors pulling off barbed wire from the leg of a near unconscious stag faunus.

The faunus's face was beaten badly, rife with cuts and bruises, while his eyes were swollen black. He was missing several teeth, and it looked like someone had either knocked out or extracted his canines.

It appeared that the man's body suffered no differently, sporting bruises suspiciously in the shape of batons, Jaune noted. There was discoloring all over the thin, frail-looking body.

... and the faunus' antlers appeared to have been broken off. Forcefully, if the way the stumps were bent was any indication.

A small part of Jaune's mind also noticed the Schnee Dust Company Logo on the doctors' and medics' uniforms.

Fingers stiff and cold, Jaune scrolled to the next image, l – no, wait, it was a folder, labeled "Dissidents."

These pictures were a lot more blurry, looking as if they had been taken in haste.

Jaune almost wished they were blurrier.

This wasn't in the medical facility this time, but a dark room with a single bulb hanging above.

A faunus woman, (Jaune could tell it was a woman despite the sack covering her face) was chained down, cuffed, to a chair. The woman's body was tense, arms were attempting to flail, while blue-uniformed men poured water down her face.

 _Waterboarding_ , false drowning. _Torture._

Jaune recognized the uniform the torturers wore. Looked like either a security company, or private military. All the uniforms had the white snowflake SDC Logo displayed on them.

The next picture had shown men with the same uniform beat a cat faunus with batons and what looked like stun-rods.

The next picture was similar in that someone was being beaten. A man, a _human_ , was the one chained down and screaming as someone else, a _faunus woman_ , was being beaten in front of him.

The next images stunned Jaune cold.

Instead of screaming, or trying to shield themselves, these faunus were laughing, smiling.

Smiling so hard and so wide, the rest of their face were strained and it looked like it hurt.

They were shirtless, bodies filled with stitches and syringe-wounds.

Their arms had IV Drips filled with the same sickly yellow liquid.

 _They were being drugged!_

Gritting his teeth, he scrolled to the next image.

* * *

Jaune put the scroll down.

"Like what you see?" commented Kaz. Jaune had forgotten he was there

"Why, ... why all this?" Jaune asked.

Kaz took a seat on the bar stool, the two goons having hurriedly left as soon as they saw the Red Dust pictures.

"Camp Omega is a mining facility." Kaz explained, "It's one part company town, another part mining community, and another part penal labor camp."

Jaune's hands clutched the scroll harder.

"The SDC owns everything in that town, the doctors, the security, although I think the Atlas Military stations men there too."

"The Atlas Military, why?"

"More efficient production line I guess; it's a lot easier to build things if you're right next to the source. All we know is that they aren't combat robots; factory's too small for that." shrugged Kaz.

"Back to the point though, the SDC built this complex, and 'hired' masses of faunus employees to mine them dust. Since the SDC are also the source of their necessities, they dictate what the faunus get. Later on, Atlas also decides that the best way to spend the time of their troublemakers was to send them to work for one of their cash cows, and voila, Camp Omega."

"Can't the faunus quit?" asked Jaune.

"They totally can. Just that transportation isn't included in their severance pay and there are Grimmlands between Omega and any settlement within the Kingdoms." came Kaz' reply.

"Worker unions?"

"What leverage do they have? As soon as a significant enough portion rallies, the SDC can either kill them or simply throw them over the walls and let the Grimm have them."

"Won't this cut deeply into their profits then?"

Kaz chuckled sadly. "As the Atlas Government classifies them also as a Penal Labor Camp, the SDC can literally go into the slums and depressed areas and round up people there, most likely faunus, for not being able to pay taxes or petty crimes. Doesn't take a genius to swing a pickaxe. At worst, mass quitting, or mass suicide if you'd prefer, would only set them back a few weeks."

Jaune really wished he could drink. "What about the 'Dust' pictures?"

"Accidents." said Kaz. "Dust mining is one of the most dangerous jobs in Remnant. You know how volatile they are, right?"

Jaune nodded.

"There we go, one wrong swing, and _boom_." Kaz gestured with his hands. "If it can manage to take down Huntsmen with aura, imagine – oh wait, you've just seen how it looks like to people without aura."

Oh yeah, Jaune'd seen enough of that for a lifetime. He silently thanked his ancestor Julius for the fact that his weapons didn't have any chambers to use dust in. He'd probably have killed himself several times already if Crocea Mors did.

Kaz continued, "The SDC provides the bare minimum of medical assistance to its injured miners, but that's the farthest it goes. If you can shamble and swing a pickaxe, as far as the SDC is concerned, you're fit to work."

"The children in the pictures?" Jaune asked, pointing to the offending picture, "You mean to tell me the SDC is involved with child labor too?"

"They've been in the camp for a long time, Jaune." Kaz massaged his temples, "There's an entire generation that's been born there that hasn't known life outside of that shithole."

Jaune hesitated. There was one last thing he wanted to know.

"The drug?"

"The drug's called Rapture." informed Kaz. "There're dealers for them all around the Kingdoms, and for the terminally-ill, they're not exactly illegal."

"And it makes them smile?" inquired Jaune. He was surprised his voice was still smooth and not cracking.

"Hallucinate." clarified Kaz. "Happy hallucinations, allegedly."

Jaune opened his mouth to speak before Kaz beat him to it.

"Why? Because the negativity the camp exudes already draws waves and waves of Grimm to it. It's a slave camp filled with poor people and convicts in an extremely shitty environment. There's a reason the Schnee have big walls, big guns, and a bigger private army."

Seeing the dazed look on Jaune's face, Kaz answered the question in his mind, "Dissidents, rioters, and troublemakers have the fight beat out of them. The particularly stubborn ones get the drug."

Kaz' gaze turned sharper. "Riots and open conflict raise the levels of negativity even higher, leading to larger waves of Grimm attacks. The SDC Security believed it to be more efficient by turning the largest, loudest dissenters into whimpering examples. If they couldn't do that, they simply drugged them to be happy, all the damn time."

Kaz put his hands on his laps, and took of the sunglasses. Jaune met his blue eyes with his own, and he saw no dishonesty in them. _God help him, Kaz wasn't lying._

"We're terrorists, yes." Kaz admitted, "Yes, we've kidnapped people, children even, and held them for ransom. We've blown up establishments that refused to serve or cheated faunus, and hurt innocents in the crossfire."

Kaz clenched his hand to a fist, "But this is what we were formed to fight. This abuse is why the White Fang was established."

"This is why we need your help."

"Please, Jaune."

...

...

 _These pictures could have easily been edited_ , weakly thought Jaune.

The rest of Jaune strongly disagreed.

Since hearing Commissioner Gordon talk about the White Fang being terrorists, he'd suspected something like this was happening. The people he'd met from the Fang were reasonable, so for them to take up arms, and strike specifically at companies that used faunus labor...

"Where did you get this?" weakly questioned Jaune to Kaz.

"We snuck some men on the inside, some time ago." Mentioned Kaz. "They're thinner and bruised, but they're ready to fight."

"Everything looks ready. Why do you need me?"

"The Vytal Festival.", spoke Kaz, "Ironwood's reduced the guard and plans to reinforce it with the next manufactured batch of robots."

 _That meant Ironwood was bringing an army to Vale?_ Jaune thought.

"We have a week or so before rescuing the faunus becomes impossible." declared a grim Kaz. "We can't gather forces that quick. We need you."

"... Why me?" asked Jaune. Voice small.

"We need your strength!" Kaz reached out and grasped Jaune's shoulder.

Jaune could barely meet the man's eyes in shame.

"I'm..."he began to speak.

 _Not strong enough? Is that it? Is that what I want to say?_

Kaz just remained in place. Jaune knew that expression, it was something he'd worn very often.

Desperation.

Someone who was desperate to just be given a chance.

This terrorist was genuinely fucking desperate for Jaune's support, and if those pictures were true, why shouldn't he?

 _No._ Jaune realized. _With or without me, he's going to try and save them._

 _Even if he had no chance in hell to succeed._

He remembered something Olive had told him. That the Fang, the faunus, were family.

For a brief moment, he imagined his father burnt to a crisp. The mighty frame that embraced him and carried him melting away to the bone.

His mother, sack on her face, being forced to experience what it was like to drown, over and over again. His mom had taught him how to swim.

Rouge frozen, fire in her eyes finally going out.

Sienna, calm and composed, smiling and crying like a maniac.

Indigo forced to watch as her twin, Viola, was beaten in front of her.

Sapphire, beautiful and always graceful on her feet, whimpering as barbed wire and glass were pulled from her crippled legs.

Viridian – actually she would kinda be into that... kinda.

Then there was Bianca. She was probably fine too.

But for the remaining 7/9th of his family...

 _Yes,_ Jaune realized. If it were his family, he'd try to rescue them as soon as possible, even if all he fucking had was a rusty fork.

 _But he had something better than a rusty fork, right?_

Yes, it was probably more prudent to prepare and wait for another opportunity, but how much more suffering would they have and how many more would die until then?

...

...

...

 _But._

Jaune was no idiot. Stupid maybe, but not an idiot.

He was fully aware that if they'd actually succeeded, they'd also succeed in suddenly recruiting a thousand more faunus devoted to the Fang cause.

How many of those faunus would end up back in the streets? Would end up picking peace and trying to find work in the slums? How many would still be able to live normal lives?

How many of them would join their liberators, and steal, and rob, and kidnap, and kill, and terrorize humans?

He pushed Kaz' hand off his shoulder.

This time, he met Kaz' desperation with steel in his eyes.

"Give me tonight to think."

* * *

Kaz left a stunned Jaune at the bar with instructions to their rendezvous point.

Jaune nearly slammed his fist into the bar until he realized Junior would fucking kill him.

The man had one rule. You could beat him up, wreck his club, and insult him, but you never, never, _never_ desecrated his bar.

Speaking of the big man...

Junior, seeing that the sunglasses-obsessed Fang Captain had left his club, began walking towards him. Aged whiskey and two glasses in hand.

"You know about it, about Omega." spoke Jaune. It was not a question.

Junior only nodded gruffly in reply as he took a seat beside Jaune.

"Is it true then, what Kaz said?" inquired the boy.

"It's not an uncommon thing," spoke Junior as he poured the two glasses full, "Nearly any dust company that hasn't been run down yet has labor camps of their own."

"Why, though, can't they operate without resorting to that?" asked Jaune, reaching for a glass only for Junior to move it away.

"One word, kid." said Junior right before draining both glasses dry. "And that word is 'Grimm'."

"Grimm?"

"Our world runs on dust, kid. Machinery, electricity, energy, transportation, even ammunition and medicines all require some amount of dust now, as fuel source or ingredient." remarked Junior, who poured himself another generous amount. "The Schnee control around 40%-60% of the dust market, and they got to where they were by providing the cheapest, highest quality dust to the Kingdoms."

"Now, imagine the Schnee paid all its employees minimum wage, and required benefits, plus upgrading all the living conditions to become places people could actually live in."

"They'd have to raise prices." Jaune realized.

"Exactly." Junior took another drink. "And it wouldn't be a low price increase either. Dust mining isn't cheap. To mine dust now, you need a lot of manpower, a shitload of machinery, a large security force, and a lot more other things. You'd need to near double the price and cut a lot of other corners to barely break even."

"Now imagine that half the world's dust doubled in price." Junior's face was serious.

If there was one thing playing military simulations and games with Rouge had taught Jaune, it was that cutting off your enemy's resources was equivalent to cutting his jugular.

And all of Remnant used _one_ major resource. Dust.

The Schnee provided near half the world's dust. If that doubled... then...

 _Oh fuck_. Jaune realized.

The cost of nearly every commodity would have to increase accordingly as well. Machinery would suddenly be more expensive to operate, leading to rising prices of manufactured goods. Power Plants used dust to generate power for cities, and villages because of the sheer efficiency of dust, if that was raised, so too would electricity.

Prices would double! _Wait, no, maybe even triple_.

Vale had the most arable land among the Kingdoms, making food Vale's number one export. With machineries and farming equipment being more expensive to operate, as well as bullheads and airships becoming more expensive...

And then security, _oh God_ , security.

Dust powered robots practically made up of a huge amount of the Kingdoms' armed forces. Huntsmen themselves used crystal dusts and dust ammunition to fight, and some of the more advanced mecha-shift weapons used dust as energy sources. Automated defenses, drones, armed bullheads, and airships were reliant on dust as well.

They'd be more expensive, taxes would need to be raised.

And all of this wasn't factoring in the countless faunus that would likely need to be laid off. Suddenly, you had a multitude of refugees, who knew only how to mine dust, and released them into the Kingdoms.

"From the look on your face, I'd reckon you got it." muttered Junior.

"There'd be chaos." whispered Jaune. "Everything would become impossible to buy. There would be unrest within the Kingdoms, then – "

" – then the increased negativity call forth even more fucking Grimm and we all die. Yeah." said Junior, "Although, it likely wouldn't get that bad. If the Schnee raised prices, the Councils would find some other competitor to sponsor, and the Dust Companies would fight over the suddenly free market share."

"So, in the end, even if the Schnee disappear, someone else will take their place?" quietly mentioned Jaune.

"Eeeyup."

"What about alternative energy?" queried Jaune, eyes brightening a little. "Some areas still use solar and wind power and stuff right?!"

"Not efficient enough, and nearly all of our technology would become useless." replied Junior. The Whiskey bottle was nearly empty now. "Besides, just try setting up those solar panels or windmills in the wild without running into fucking Grimm."

"How about robots?" asked Jaune desperately, "Atlas' robotics are getting pretty good, can't they be used for mining instead?"

"Still not as cheap as faunus labor, nor as effective." snorted Junior. "But I've heard they were trying to do something about it, but making little progress."

Jaune let out a frustrated sigh, and leaned into the bar. Was there no way to solve this problem?

A heavy hand patted his back.

"You're a good kid." came Junior's voice, "But as conservative and seemingly amoral the Councils are, they really are fucking trying. They just can't rock the boat or we all die."

Jaune closed his eyes.

"I won't rat you out if you decide to help out the Fang. God knows that if I were in their shoes, I'd probably do the same thing they were doing too."

 _Was it wrong to take up arms against those who would hurt people?_

 _But if protecting people meant putting everyone at risk, was it the right thing to do?_

"Offer still stands. Find a room and feel free to sleep, stay as long as you need." came Junior's voice. His footsteps echoing in the empty club.

On one hand, faunus were dying, and living in horrible conditions. On the other hand, sacrificing said faunus was currently the Kingdoms' best bet for survival.

 _Is it right to sacrifice the faunus so everyone else could continue happy lives?_

 _Should he call Rouge? Or Sapphire? Or Viola? Or mom and dad for help?_

 _No._

 _They all had their positions in society. They likely understood all these already, and had made their decisions._

 _Besides, they weren't here._

 _Sometimes, they had said, you needed to sacrifice the present to grasp the future._

 _But without the present, could you even have a future? They had also said._

 _He wanted to be a Hero, right?_

 _It's easy to justify sacrificing for the Greater Good if you weren't the one doing the sacrificing._

 _The only ones heroes sacrificed were themselves._

Jaune Arc opened his eyes.

 _If you want to be a hero, act heroic._ once spoke Julius Arc in his memoirs.

"Fake it til you make it." spoke Jaune Arc aloud in the club.

No doubt there would be consequences, Jaune was sure of that. But to get ahold of the future, one needed to seize the day.

Perhaps it was best that he was unaware of the twin sets of ears and eyes that had been monitoring him since Kaz entered.

* * *

 **Present**

 _Oh yeah, that's how I got talked into it._ , remembered Jaune.

The bullhead lurched again and Jaune fought to keep down his breakfast.

The only remaining reservation he had about the whole thing was about killing their enemies, but Kaz convinced him that the base really was pretty empty. The faunus had told him that most likely they'd just encounter resistance in the form of combat robots.

They'd try to knock out any human guards, but Kaz wasn't offering any promises.

Jaune supposed that was good enough.

The bullhead shook slightly, buffeted by the mountain winds.

He had taken a White Fang uniform. No way was he gonna smear any of his family's reputation here.

Also, surprisingly, the gear was rather comfy.

Kaz had offered him the whole set. White Grimm mask, sleeveless black fatigues, black hood, a white sleeveless coat, white reinforced boots, and reinforced white gloves.

Interestingly, from afar, the colors of the clothes he wore actually kind of resembled the White Fang's uniform. Kaz had joked about that he was always meant to join them. Jaune just thought it was convenient; he wasn't used to fighting out of his usual gear.

Jaune kept his hoodie, and his white cloak, while he took the dark pants, the white coat, and the boots. He was headed somewhere cold, it was best to have layers. He simply wore his breastplate and shoulderplates over the white coat.

Kaz and the other Fang members who knew who he was had given their approval. His clothes really did resemble the Fang uniform. He was just advised to keep the mask and hood on to hide his features. Wouldn't do for his allies to mistake him for an enemy.

Heh, if he didn't know any better, he was wearing nearly the same thing his ancestor Julius had worn in his statue at Beacon. Breastplate, with a coat covering his legs and all.

He was just missing an attractive battleaxe-wielding woman at his side now, and he could cosplay as his idol.

 _Wait a sec, I have a horse! I can look way cooler!_

Huh, come to think of it, when he woke up that morning, Albus was nowhere to be found.

"Jaune?" a voice shook Jaune out of his reverie. Jaune turned to the bullhead's only other occupant.

"I know I've been saying it the whole time," admitted Kaz, "but again, thank you."

 _It was weird_ , Jaune thought, how unlike this man was from his namesake in private. Without his sunglasses on, Kaz looked even younger and more fearful than Jaune was.

Then again, his sisters had mentioned before that Jaune had a tendency of adopting a stoic expression like the old paintings of Julius Arc, as well as pretending he knew what was going on even if he didn't.

It was normal, right?

Jaune smiled back, trying to ignore the rumbling contents of his stomach and his steadily itching palms, "We haven't saved them yet, Kaz."

"I'm serious." replied the faunus, "You're the strongest man we have on this operation. If you didn't join, I wasn't sure what we'd do."

 _Oh crap, right._

Was he really the strongest though? He'd been taught by his parents that there was a difference between Huntsmen-in-Training versus aura-unlocked fighters. Namely that the former could defeat masses of the latter.

It'd made sense at the time. Huntsmen were trained to go against the Grimm, and against the Grimm, the one thing that was certain was that, one, you were always hellishly outnumbered, two, they practically never tired, and three, they were impossibly strong.

As a result, Huntsmen were special, as to go against the Grimm, you needed to pack some serious heat. This was the reason why Huntsmen used powerful weapons capable of wreaking havoc to a large area in the shortest possible amount of time, like those shot-gauntlets Goldilocks had used in Junior's club.

Huntsman weapons also tended to be bright and unique, extensions of the wielder's soul. That was practical for morale purposes. Bright colors were much more comforting to look at when surrounded by the darkness that was the Grimm.

And seeing a beowolf exploding into bits by rainbow fireworks piercing its eyes tended to do wonders for morale as compared to seeing the beast get stabbed with a knife.

Morale was a huntsman's lifeblood. Positive "we can do it" and "kill the cunt" emotions increased the strength of one's aura; but negative emotions like thinking about surrender weakened it.

That, and negative emotions usually attracted more Grimm like moths to a flame, or sharks to blood, or, perhaps more accurately, Headmaster Ozpin to the nearest, finest cup of Black Vacuoan Roast. So that was pretty bad.

Was that what Kaz meant? Soldiers and criminals used smaller, more practical, but weaker standardized weapons. Even customized weapons criminals used like canes and parasols, were picked not because of strength and options, but because they were easier to hide, compared to huntsman weapons that flaunted their warhammer-chainsaw-laser cannon whatevers.

But how strong could Jaune be? He'd had his ass kicked by common bandits, dammit.

Maybe discovering his semblance made him stronger?

Regardless, he was here now. He couldn't back out, even if he wanted to.

 _An Arc never goes back on his word._

"I'm sure you guys would've been fine without me." replied Jaune, smile not leaving his face.

"No, we wouldn't." Kaz had long removed his sunglasses and looked Jaune in the face, "The Lieutenant thinks it's a suicide mission."

 _Wait,_ _ **what**_ _?_

Then Jaune had connected the dots. The reason he was here was because they couldn't raise the necessary forces in time.

Meaning, these faunus thought he was strong enough to tip the scales.

He'd been so distracted waxing poetry and philosophy and right and wrong that he forgot that seemingly trivial detail.

He was so distracted whether or not he should, he didn't consider whether he actually _could._

A small part of Jaune was overjoyed that someone actually had enough faith to trust and believe in him.

But that was a small part.

A very small part.

The majority had been screaming like a lunatic or an Achieve-Men fangirl. There was no difference between the former and the latter.

 _Calm down, calm down, calm down..._

His stomach threatened to empty its contents on the faunus baring his gratefulness at him.

 _Calm down, don't puke, calm down..._

 _I'm going against Atlesian Knight 130's_. _They can barely beat beowolves. I've killed beowolves before. I got this!_

Jaune smiled serenely. His sister Sapphire the actress would be so proud.

"I'm glad you trust me. I'll do what I can." he replied, smiling confidently.

The plan was simple, anyway. The complex was huge, and the faunus were all confined to one corner. Sneak in said corner, take the anti-air guns, hold the security off using their own fortifications while the prisoners were loaded onto the airships, and then get the hell away.

They had near equal numbers to the reduced security forces. No doubt the security would be spread thin.

This was possible!

It could work!

This was gonna be easy!

The more Jaune thought about it, the better their chances for victory seemed! Their enemies were just bullies with aura and guns, and most of the robots, the ones that weren't sent away to be refitted to something else, were old AK-130's.

Combat Schools used AK-130's for practice!

Granted, he'd never been to a combat school, but meh.

Jaune felt actual confidence flow through him, as soothing as using his aura for the very first time. He felt like he could do anything.

"Kaz." he declared, reaching out to pat the faunus's shoulder. "We're gonna win this!"

The gesture seemed to melt Keppel Azure's nervousness away as well. Dad was right, confidence was the key!

"Hell yeah!" he replied, "We're gonna save them!"

Jaune responded with a brilliant, confident smile that Kaz would burn to his memory.

"Everything's gonna be fine!" Jaune Arc declared.

They were like, two hundred dedicated, zealous, brave soldiers fighting to rescue like a thousand slaves against bullies and old robots, and with the element of surprise on their side! As long as they had enough weapons, even the prisoners could assist them!

He was going to be a Hero!

They were gonna win!

 _What could possibly go wrong?_

* * *

 _ **Her**_ customized airship landed cleanly on the airfield.

Atlas treated its specialists well, as she should.

The ride was smooth, and near-perfect, however _**she**_ found it wanting.

 _ **She**_ was perfect after all, it was only befitting that her transportation should be the same.

 _ **She**_ had descended from the airship. Whatever pathetic excuses that passed for the paltry security force's officers lined up to meet her.

The guards had grown fat and pathetic, and it seemed their officers were no different.

Unlike the hundreds of Atlesian Soldiers that right now were disembarking from her ship, these glorified henchmen couldn't even manage a decent looking salute. Their thumbs were far in the air, and some had even raised the wrong hand.

Camp Omega was a Schnee Dust Company and Atlesian Kingdom joint venture. This only meant that these men were _twice_ as accountable to _**her**_.

 _ **She**_ could even feel their lecherous gazes look her up top from bottom, settling their sights on either her chest of her hips.

 _ **She**_ simply gave them a pointed look, and that was enough to send them falling on their bottoms.

 _Pathetic. This godforsaken place would have fallen a long time ago, had it not been for the garrisoned Atlesian Knights._

The very reason _**she**_ was here was enough to enrage her. _**She**_ and her men were nothing more than glorified couriers, here to collect some old, abandoned research.

 _ **She**_ held her tongue however. The General had apparently viewed the research as something of great importance. Great Ironwood would not squander his Special Operatives without worthy cause.

"Ahh, Madame." groveled the base's commander, a fat man she shouldn't have bothered learning the name of. "It is our greatest pleasure to have one such as yourself visit our humble camp."

"Greetings." came _**her**_ stern tones. _**She'd**_ made a mental note to shower later; merely acknowledging the fool in her midst had already made her feel filthy. "I trust you have been informed of our visit's purpose?"

"Of course, of course," continued groveling the commander. "But you must be, aheh, exhausted from your trip. Surely you would not be averse to a meal _together_ before you begin your duties. I have the finest Mistrali wine, aged fo –"

A mere glare from _**her**_ had silenced the pig.

Addressing the assembled and stunned officers, she spoke aloud.

"Gentlemen," _a gross overestimation, these sad excuses for humans were more animal than the faunus,_ "You are all aware of the purpose for my visit."

With a subtle smile that could rival even the most beautiful of models, _**she**_ spoke, "Assist me, and we shall be thankful and on our way, posthaste."

Then, with a stern look that could freeze lava, and _maybe_ rival Glynda Goodwitch's, _**she**_ continued, "Attempts to dissuade me, however, will be rebuffed, and those who do so will find themselves at the tender mercies of am Atlesian court-martial."

"Make no mistake, I am on a task bequeathed to me by General Ironwood himself." At the sound of the general's name, they straightened up and began sweating, even in the snow. "And of the resources allotted to me, I've been given much."

"I am _**Winter Schnee**_." the woman had declared, "And I shall crush any opposition."

* * *

 **Chapter 5 End.**

* * *

 **AN: I'm horrible at pacing.** _ **Next**_ **chapter is where it starts. Still boring. Sorry.**


	7. Chapter 6: Sons of Menagerie

**Arc of the Revolution**

 **Chapter 6: Dust Gear Arc 2**

 **Sons of Menagerie**

* * *

It is easy to forget conflict, in times of peace.

It is easy to forget hatred, in times of acceptance.

However, to forget about the mistakes of the past, as much as we want to, will only make repeating them inevitable.

While people today would mention that the tensions between human and faunus during those times have been greatly exaggerated, that is not the case.

So, how, how did it all start? How then did Remnant, the name itself hinting at our world's fragile state, manage to nearly trap itself into a spiral leading to its own death?

It had all started when Humanity had attempted to force the faunus into the island of Menagerie.

Most films would portray this diaspora by showing how faunus were loaded into bullheads, packed like sardines, and shipped off at gunpoint. That was not the case.

Most of the early refugees had entered those aircraft willingly.

At first, we, the faunus, thought it would be everything we finally wished for. A place free of the discrimination that haunted us. A place where we could rule and govern ourselves, a place governed by faunus, for faunus.

A place where we could actually eat the same things the rest of humanity could. A place where we could work for ourselves, and actually provide for our families. A place where faunus children wouldn't be called animals by their peers and teachers. A place where we could make our own decisions for ourselves.

We had thought it was a place where we would finally be free to live and prosper.

It was no utopia, but a prison.

The first mistake would be that none of us never really thought about what the Kingdoms would want in return. The Kingdoms, after all, had, even taking into consideration the inflation of lien, sunk billions into Menagerie. We had been briefed that, since Menagerie was still under construction, the Island would work as a pseudo-company town, where labour, dust mining, would be exchanged for the services rendered, supplies given, and infrastructure built.

What we didn't know was that the majority of Menagerie's land was infertile. The main resource the Island had was the purest, highest quality dust that side of Remnant.

There was no industry yet, barely any trees, and we lived in columns and columns of cheap housing. Most of the funds provided went into a series of walls surrounding the settlement, and dust mining machineries.

We realized there was only one way the Kingdoms wanted, and could be paid. Dust.

Dust mining, up until now, still remains one of the most dangerous, yet most needed tasks known to Remnant. The higher the purity of dust, the greater its effects, and thus, the greater its volatility; the most obvious example of which is Red Dust, commonly used for explosives.

While those with aura unlocked might shrug off the effects, imagine the kind of damage a typical red dust explosion would be able to do on a person without his aura unlocked.

While logic would follow that greater risk equaled greater reward, we soon realized that the Kingdoms that were 'aiding' us held all the cards: food, clean water, facilities that were able to refine dust and make it usable for energy, clothes, and other basic necessities.

We, on the other hand, had unrefined dust that was more likely to kill us than prove a good meal. While we held the more valuable resource, our demand for theirs was inflexible, theirs for ours was not, as the Kingdoms had other mining operations going.

The second mistake was that we failed to understand that the Kingdoms had profited from our very absence itself.

In those days, faunus were trapped in a vicious cycle, a self-defeating prophecy. To simplify, discrimination in those days were attributed to the faunus being unskilled work, being pickpockets, thieves, lowlives, and lazy freeloaders. Due to said discrimination, faunus were overcharged in purchasing even the most basic of goods and services, and denied training and education, causing said faunus had to resort to pickpocketing, and thievery to survive.

There was heavy civil unrest on both sides, stemming from the growing hate of humanity against the faunus parasite; and the growing resentment of the faunus against human oppression.

This of course, led to an increasing number of Grimm attacks. Like water to a thirsty man, Menagerie was seemingly tailored to everyone's concerns. The faunus would allegedly be free of discrimination, and the humans would be free of the faunus parasite.

For months, as the faunus were moved to Menagerie, the Kingdoms experienced an all-time low in crime rates and Grimm attacks both, and Menagerie was initially lauded as a success.

However, the conditions in Menagerie slowly worsened. The dust supplies were even richer and purer than geologists, and dustologists had noted, and the death toll from accidents had risen. In addition to that, Menagerie was a new settlement, and its defenses were constantly tested by the Grimm. Then, when all was as its bleakest, the scrip used as the de facto currency was devalued.

Was it the Kingdoms' intentions to do so from the very beginning, to secure a large amount of cheap labor they had total control of?

Was it simple corporate greed; to minimize costs and thus, maximize income?

Was the value decreased simply because the drastic increase in the faunus population overwhelmed whatever supply Menagerie had?

Or was it a mixture of all of the above, or some other reason?

The faunus cried out, the price of the dust they were mining were supposed to outweigh whatever costs they were incurring. It was then that it became evident to Menagerie's inhabitants just how weak we were in terms of bargaining power. All our necessities came from one source, and all the mined dust could only be sold to the same.

What could the faunus do? Quit working, and go on strike? The Kingdoms still maintained their other dust mining operations, and while losing Menagerie would hurt, it was something they could afford. Leave Menagerie and go somewhere else? Good luck crossing the Grimm, the oceans, and the Grimm who lived in the oceans.

Faunus, human? What did it matter, we were always eager to grasp weapons.

Like a cornered beast, the Faunus had bared their fangs.

As the emotions felt by Menagerie's inhabitants doubled Grimm attacks on the Island, the United Councils had decided that, to at least maintain peace in the Kingdoms, they had to censor the news. As a result, when the faunus had overrun the Kingdoms' garrison and declared war, the human populace was caught entirely by surprise.

Forgotten grudges and hate had renewed themselves overnight. To an ignorant humanity, further goaded into a frenzy by state-controlled media, billions of taxpayer lien had gone into feeding and trying to assist a people that desired nothing more than to end them. Overnight, extremists had gained political power, and another question was asked:

"Do we turn Menagerie into their prison? Or their execution grounds?"

Everyone knows the war crimes committed within what is called by humans as the Faunus War, and the faunus as the Faunus Rights Revolution. With, each side viewing the other as subhuman, perhaps such atrocities were to be expected.

Aside from the typical rape, looting, torturing, and usage of prohibited weapons, humans had started mutilating faunus, taking trophies. In particular, faunus beast parts, ears, tails, claws, wings, fangs, and sometimes even skins were turned into cloaks and keepsakes.

The faunus responded by mutilating human bodies into mockeries of animals. They had cut and disfigured ears to shape them into cat or dog ones. In particular, as a mockery of the Winchester Family traditions to name their members after birds; the faunus had broken bone, and sewn skin to make the bodies of Winchester Huntsmen to make it look as if they were avian creatures in flight.

The common belief is that these trophies were taken while the victim was kept alive, either with forced resuscitation with shock dust, or thanks to the healing provided by the victim's aura. Some had actually survived the war.

The events at Menagerie would echo throughout the ages as an example of an inhumane, yet, completely legal model of capitalism and discrimination.

Those lessons would not be learned, and would lead to yet another conflict.

In the near future, companies would make use of various methods, from keeping faunus workers on perpetual contractual worker status by firing and rehiring them to avoid paying benefits, to opening what were more or less sweatshops to ensure great returns.

What choice did the faunus have, after all? Humanity, technically defeated in the war, still despised and feared the faunus.

The cutthroat competition of many dust mining and refining companies would try and replicate such methods to gain cost leadership advantages.

One model would surpass them all.

Menagerie can be said to be the prototype model of the infamous Schnee Labor Camps, a model that the Schnee Dust Company's Founder, himself a veteran of the Faunus Rights Revolution, would later 'perfect'.

 _ **Heritage of Hatred**_ **, Chapter 2 by Woad Galker, edited by Weiss Schnee, and Blake Belladonna**

* * *

"E-eto... S-Swirly Fishcake-kun," stuttered the indigo-haired, pale-eyed beauty who was staring at the love of her life.

The two of them stood atop the walls of the Kingdom-Hidden-In-The-Backside-of-Vale, gazing into the sunset.

The boy, no, _the man_ with blonde hair and an orange jumpsuit clenched his fist.

"Don't worry, Sunny Place-chan!" the man shouted, "I'll definitely protect Hidden Backside Kingdom, believe it! That's my Huntsman Wa –"

Winter Schneeyanked out the scroll playing that obnoxious cartoon out from her soldier's hand. The buffoons didn't even notice her presence as she approached.

The Atlesian soldiers watching what seemed to be the latest episode of Swirly Fishcake made pathetic attempts to stifle their gasps as they snapped hasty salutes.

She was an Atlesian specialist. Hell would freeze over before she would let this affect her composure.

Rather, she herself felt some sympathy for these men. They were smack dab in the middle of headquarters, surrounded by walls almost half as high as the ones in Vale, and, if she were honest, this was a waste of time.

 _The man succeeded once, but failed to replicate his success._

Still, General Ironwood believed it was worthy of pursuit. He pointed, and she obeyed.

Back straight, face betraying no emotion, Winter spoke.

"I understand that we are here in Camp Omega for nothing more than to collect parts of _his_ research." she said, "But soldiers of _our caliber_ would not have been deployed had this task not been of the utmost importance."

She could see their slack faces slowly harden into the professional countenance of Atlesian soldiers. _Good, convince them of the importance of their cause, relate with their grievances, appeal to the organization we'd sworn allegiance to, and butter them up._

"We are soldiers of Atlas: the greatest standing army, and finest fighting men and women on Remnant." shecontinued, "We must be vigilant for threats to the safety of the Kingdoms. _Remnant_ needs you, her _heroes_ , alert, regardless of whatever task we are sent to."

"General James Ironwood _personally_ selected each man assigned to this task-force. He believes in you, and expects much." _Hogwash, his aide's aide had picked whoever was free._ Winter thought.

Despite her personal thoughts, she gave the men a small smile, and took the pleasure in the slight blush that heated up their cheeks, "And so do I, men of Atlas. Is this understood, soldiers?"

"Yes, ma'am!" shouted the soldiers in reply, eager to please.

"Carry on, then." shereplied, and took some gratification seeing the men pick up their weapons and resume patrol.

Her scroll rang.

"Ma'am," came the voice of her aide, "It is as you and the General expected; the _beasts_ are coming."

She smiled. Of course those filthy opportunists would try to attack when they noticed the defenses were decreased. Still, she did have some stress that needed working out. Hand on her sword, she walked to her command room.

 _She had some... pest extermination to see to._

* * *

White plated boots, black fatigues, white sleeveless coat worn over a black hoodie, gauntlets, shoulderplates and chestplate, sheathed sword at his hip, rifle slung, and all shrouded beneath a frayed, white cloak.

And a bone-white Grimm mask was covering his face. The mask, despite everyone's efforts, was still too damned loose.

The uniform, most especially the cloak, combined with the harsh weather, and the low light of the evening rendered Jaune Arc nearly invisible in the snow as he crept up behind a lone security guard.

The man's uniform was the same as the prisoner-beating guards in the pictures Keppel Azure "Kaz" Miller had shown him the night before. This man was a guard under the employ of the Schnee Dust Company controlling Camp Omega.

A careless step snapped a twig, and Jaune swore in his mind.

The man's head snapped up, and began twisting left and right.

 _Fuck, he could hear me this far?!_

While normally, his sisters would kill him for his pathetic attempts at stealth, I mean, _shit,_ _he left obvious marks all over the snow_ , he felt that the light snowstorm blowing amongst the mountains covered up any mistakes he'd made.

 _The snowstorm was sudden, it was as if winter had come early._

If there was one thing his family's training had been able to beat onto him, it was the endurance to move quickly while carrying more than his weight in gear.

Jaune... Jaune didn't want to kill anyone, but if need be... He flipped off the safety of his rifle.

He risked a quick look behind him. At his back were around ten members of the White Fang, some of them giving him a thumbs up for taking point.

He'd volunteered to take point. He'd checked everyone's aura levels, and if you squinted, he had nearly triple the aura reserves of their average grunt. That, and unlike everyone else he was actually wearing heavy armor, so it wasn't really a difficult choice to make.

He'd been shot a few times back when his family still trained him. He could take a decent amount of shots before his aura even plunged into the yellow, and that was assuming his armor or shield didn't block the shot.

Speaking of which, his shield literally advertised his family and identity to everyone who could see it, as much as he hated not using it, he had to keep it hidden. He'd looked at the generic, unremarkable rifle he'd picked up, this would have to do.

He still brought Crocea Mors with him, though. Better safe than sorry.

Signalling his allies, they moved in to surround the lone guard, and when they did...

"Freeze!" Jaune grunted, as he man jumped back in surprise.

Jaune's rifle was trained at the guard's chest. As bad of a shot as he was, no way he could miss this close.

The closest Fang grunt jumped, and with a swipe of his claws, grabbed the guard's scroll. No one was raising the alarm, not when they were this close!

"Jaune, wait, stop, dammit, it's me!" The guard blurted out.

Jaune froze. He knew that voice.

And as if to verify his recent discovery, Jaune also knew those sunglasses.

"Kaz? What the fuck?"

The tension evaporated as the guard, now identified to be the guy who came up with this operation in the first place, removed his hat and revealed his horrendous mullet to the world.

"I tried to tell you through." Kaz said, pointing at the earpieces and receivers they had all attached to their scrolls, "But the damned weather is fucking with the signal."

Jaune blinked. That would explain a lot. Kaz hadn't checked in for 20 minutes now.

"Uhh – what's with the uniform, sir?" asked the man who had swiped, and was now returning Kaz's scroll.

"Guards really are incompetent fucks." Kaz said, grinning fiercely. "Caught a couple of them isolated from their patrol, pissing in the snow. Think they were trying to spell their names. Caught them with their literal pants down."

"More than one?" Jaune's eyes lit up, "Does this mean that we have more of our guys in their uniforms?"

"You bet." Kaz smirked, "Already sent em in. The comms actually work a little if we're this close, and they report that security's even lighter than we expected."

"How much lighter?" Jaune asked excitedly.

Kaz gave him an even wider grin. "Barely no one at all."

 _Wait, what?_

 _That can't be right._

 _Even in their wildest, most optimistic calculations, they expected to face 200 defenders spread thin across the base, and that by now they'd have been spotted. No guards, what the fuck?_

"Can you contact them?" Jaune suddenly asked.

If Kaz was about to question him, he deigned not to after seeing the look on his face. "Yeah, I can, Jaune."

"Tell them to be on the lookout for a trap." Jaune requested. Kaz's easygoing mood sharpened, and he nodded.

"Sir," a White Fang soldier asked Jaune, "Group C has already reached the wall as well. Your orders?"

When Kaz had introduced Jaune to the rest of the Fang team, he had presented Jaune as a specialist that had the support of Adam Taurus himself. Apparently that was enough.

"But he's a human!" some of the hardliners had cried.

"Adam FUCKING Taurus!" Kaz had screamed back.

Apparently, Adam's name carried a lot of weight, as immediately, some of them had begun deferring to him rather than Kaz. Kaz was actually glad they began doing so.

Lazy bastard.

Their plan was simple. Camp Omega was in the shape of a square, separated into five sectors. The barracks and headquarters were at its center, factories and laboratories of some sort at the east, the north, and the south.

The faunus housing was at the west, and that's where they were approaching from.

Each passageway within the camp was made in a way as to corral all those who'd entered into a series of chokepoints and overlapping kill-zones, each having automated heavy machine gun and anti-air emplacements mounted on the walls supporting them.

With the loss of most of their combat droids, they expected the security forces to be spread thin across the camp, and so, by concentrating their forces at one point, one direction, from the West, they hoped to be able to break through.

Group A, led by Jaune, and B, led by Kaz, both numbering 40 men divided into smaller teams, would have to suffice.

At the same time, Group C, the largest one, would scale the walls and either disable or take the heavy guns. Assuming they were able to punch through, their medical personnel would detach themselves from the combat groups, and begin ferrying faunus to the airships that would land right in the enemy's camp.

They held no delusions that they'd be able to sneak through. When Omega would counterattack, they would use Omega's own captured defenses to weather out the assault, and retreat, step by step, and hopefully escape along with the airships.

With disguised faunus in the enemy's ranks however, breaking through their defenses would be even easier.

Jaune hesitated. They expected a light guard, but they didn't expect nearly no one at all. Was this a trap? Still..., if they managed to take the guns, and the fortifications, they pretty much won.

"Go." Jaune spoke at last, and the soldier scurried to relay his command. They thought he was some sort of leader? He had to act like it. They were in the Grimmlands, after all. If morale broke now, and they were all dead.

"No other choice but to press on, eh?" remarked Kaz.

Jaune nodded his agreement, even as he tried to ignore the intensifying itches on his palms.

* * *

 _All so predictable_ , Winter thought.

The animals had already begun targeting the guns on top of the walls; the same guns that prevented them from truly overrunning the camp.

She stationed a good number of her finest men to man those walls. They would not fall easily.

There was also the matter of the ones that simply charged in through the gates. Still, those were easily dealt with. Even the pathetic guards her father had hired could fend them, let alone her seasoned Atlesian soldiers.

The enemy attack was halted; their nigh-unstoppable advance turning into nothing more than a slog that cost them blood for every step.

 _Good_ , Winter had thought. She had brought it as a precaution, but she indeed preferred not to display the prototype if it could be helped.

Turning her gaze to the tactical display, she noted with satisfaction that the icons marked as hostile were slowly wiped out one by one...

* * *

"Anti-Air guns, taken with minimal resistance, sir!"

"We've taken the western walls. Barely any resistance, only four to five on patrol."

Jaune acknowledged their reports as he and his group ducked under a hail of heavy machine gun fire from the 3rd chokepoint they'd run into.

They'd passed through the gates, disguised faunus already dispatching whatever guards stationed there. The base had paved roads, covered in heavy layers of snow. While their cloaks ensured they were still difficult to see amidst all the white; it wasn't the near-invisibility they had outside Omega's walls.

Their disguised men had managed to easily neutralize the crews manning the first two fortifications. They'd reported only a few men, taken completely by surprise.

All of the men they had defeated thus far wore the gray uniform of the SDC's Camp Omega Security Forces.

This was the first defense they'd run into that actually gave them some trouble, and even then it wasn't much, if the panicked screaming and wild, inaccurate gunfire was any indication.

Still, it was pretty damn loud and had Jaune not been hit by worse before, he would say it was intimidating. Still, the loud noises of gunfire could draw a lot of unneeded attention. If the enemy didn't know they were here, they sure did now.

Jaune was pretty sure that if he were alone he could take these guys with his sword and shield. His shield and armor, and hell, his aura had taken tougher blows in the past.

As he and his men took cover, the machine gun suddenly went quiet.

"It's clear!" came Kaz's voice. The faunus had snuck in and took them from behind.

Jaune stood up, and inspected the bodies.

Kaz had knocked the guards out and detained them. _Good._ Avoiding casualties was the only real condition he had for joining this mission. Given that most of the Fang soldiers that joined him were those of the younger and more idealistic demographic, most had agreed.

They wanted to prove they could succeed with as little bloodshed as possible.

Still, to have such few troops this close...

"I don't understand," muttered Jaune aloud, "We're practically only a few blocks away from their headquarters, and still no real resistance. Group C didn't even encounter any real problems taking the walls."

Even Kaz was wary now, "We haven't even encountered any robots yet. Our scouts are getting jittery too. It's like a ghost town, they say."

Still, if they were walking into a trap, wasn't it too late to spring it? They'd carved their way in through the west gates, and pretty soon, they'd hit their destination. They held all the cards now, in fact, they just needed to call the airships down and –

"Wait," realized Jaune, "Can we contact the airships?"

Kaz's face twisted into a grimace, "No, we can't. Weather's jamming up any signal. Looks like we'll need to take and hold position until it clears, or we might get lucky and they decide to just randomly drop by."

"I see." Jaune mused.

Jaune Arc frowned. Something was seriously wrong with this situation.

* * *

Winter Schnee frowned. Something was seriously wrong with this situation.

She stared at the tactical map. Her forces held their ground, but were steadily being pushed back.

They weren't the average beasts, but the more intelligent ones, it seemed. The ones that held back and waited until they spotted holes in their defenses.

Her Atlesian regulars were already stuck in combat against the beasts at the south gates, yet Omega's security forces had failed to come to her aid, even upon her request.

Still, some had responded to her orders. It was only those in the West Quadrant that had disobeyed.

Her eyes narrowed. Insubordination. When she was through with this attack, she would ensure those sad excuses for mercenaries would face the full wrath of Atlesian Military Justice.

She still had some Atlesian regulars she'd hoped to keep in reserve, guarding headquarters. She could have them move to join the battle, as well as pass through the western quadrant to round up Omega's truant guardsmen.

"Blue Twelve," she spoke into her scroll, "Double-time to the south gates, but pass through the west quadrant. Take whatever men you find to join you."

"And should they resist... _persuade_ them."

* * *

"Get down!" exclaimed Kaz, as Jaune and the rest of their group complied, getting the hell out of the road and finding cover and laying prone on the snowmounds to the sides.

"Kaz? What's up?" whispered Jaune. They could see the housing already, they were so nearly there!

One by one, however, the faunus, or at least those with faunus ears perked up, staring suspiciously into the air.

 _Something's here_ , realized Jaune as he readied his rifle. He didn't want to use his sword, but he wasn't afraid of wielding it if need be.

Eventually, they could hear the sound of running; of boots against snow and concrete. Some of the faunus began snarling quietly, and Kaz himself looked a lot more nervous. Jaune peered into the snow, and eventually saw why.

There, out of the cold winds that obscured their vision, came men in distinctive high-tech silver helmets and body armor. He recognized those designs, high traction boots, dust-augmented armor that increased body strength, high-powered dust rifles, helmets that had varieties of functions... _like those used by..._

Jaune had to stifle a gasp. Everyone in Remnant knew who these were.

 _Soldiers, Atlesian Army_.

There were around thirty of them, fully equipped, heavily-armored and from the looks of it, fresh.

Jaune and Kaz both led elements from Groups A and B, each group had forty men, amounting to eighty men in total, all scattered around the mounds.

"Quick, men, hurry up!" barked what looked to be the Sergeant in charge, "We have orders, round them up! Take them all, forcibly if you need to!"

 _Why was Atlas here?! Round them up? Take them?_

Jaune didn't need to look around him to note that his allies' faces were twisting into mute horror.

 _They couldn't let that happen. If they relocated the faunus to a more secure location, they'd have a fucking hostage crisis in their hands._

Jaune met Kaz's eyes.

Kaz nodded.

They had no choice, they had to take them out. These men were too powerful not to give it their all.

 _Why then_ , Jaune thought to himself, _am I hesitating?_

They weren't spotted yet, and the soldiers were headed this way.

Like Jaune, the rest of their group was sporting white cloaks as well, and right now, it was proving to be a good move.

The snow was still blowing, covering Jaune and his companions with a light layer of snow, obscuring their forms even further.

The soldiers were marching close now, caution thrown into the wind in favor of speed.

 _They couldn't see them_ , Jaune realized _, even this close._

The soldiers were almost within their optimal range.

Jaune's palms were itching beyond all belief now; his heart hammering in his chest. He didn't need to look behind him to know that the others all had their weapons trained on the Atlesians, just waiting for the first shot.

"We fire all at once." whispered Kaz into his receiver. Whispers of "Aye", "Roger that", "Understood", and "Copy that" sounded off in Jaune's earpiece.

"On my mark." whispered Kaz. The Atlesians were within Jaune's sights already. Jaune's finger hovered over the trigger.

One of the Atlesians marching in formation stopped and looked at their direction, directly at Jaune. The man narrowed his eyes as if to make sure, then he –

"Mark."

Jaune pulled the trigger.

* * *

Winter Schnee's eyes widened.

With nary a word, report, nor plea for aid, the icons representing the reserve force she sent to the West had been wiped out in a matter of seconds.

Their military-grade scrolls interfaced with their goggles in their helmets, and so fed information directly to their commander's tactical maps. If they saw someone they classified as an enemy, she would damn well know.

These men were soldiers of Atlas, but they'd been defeated without even getting a good glimpse of their assailants.

All their aura levels were deep in the red, so it was likely most were either dead or unconscious.

The beasts had managed to encircle Omega, despite her committing the bulk of her forces cordoning them off in the South?

It wasn't completely unheard of. Some breeds of those lesser beings were specialized for stealth, after all.

Still, she'd deployed Omega's security forces to serve as some sort of defense, or perhaps more accurately, as an early warning device. Did that mean the monsters got this far undetected, or did it mean they'd already torn through the pathetic security teams she had stationed there?

 _Still, what would those monsters be doing in the western quadrant...?_

Winter snarled. Of course the beasts would strike there, that's where the faunus laborers were housed!

She bit her lip. She needed to strike quickly before her forces would be caught in a pincer. As loathe as she was to admit it, the general was right when he bequeathed the prototype to her retinue.

Still, at the very least she would assist in the collection of its combat data.

She sighed. What a waste of resources.

"Deploy White-One." Winter Schnee had spoken to her scroll. "Show these fiends the might of Atlas."

* * *

Jaune sighed a deep breath of relief.

The bullets he had fired at the soldier had pierced his arm, but it wasn't enough to kill the man or seriously injure him. His aura went on overdrive to protect him, deflect the shots, then heal any bruises, and so after a couple of well-placed shots, he fell unconscious not because of blood loss, but of aura exhaustion.

Simply put, the weapons the Fang were packing were deadly to civilians, but against aura-awakened Atlesian soldiers, who were wearing state-of-the-art dust-augmented body armor that could hold up against Grimm attacks?

He'd need to empty whole magazines of bullets into a vital point to really kill one; or, as was the case when fighting huntsmen, channel aura within your blade and stab.

Aura was a _hell_ of a drug.

When Jaune realized that he'd actually need to try to kill someone, he gleefully set his rifle to full-auto, and joined his friends in a merry contest of "Shoot the Atlesian". Despite Jaune's best efforts however, the victory ended up going to some guy who managed to shoot an Atlesian in both his nuts.

While the Soldiers of Atlas were better equipped and better armored, it didn't mean much in an ambush where you could barely see shit. The Atlesians were scurrying around and firing blindly like drunken fratboys pretending to be headless chickens while the disciplined fire from the prone, hidden Fang had cut them down, one by one.

 _We were lucky_ ¸ Jaune mused. They had caught the Atlesians unawares, in the gloom of evening, in the middle of a snowstorm, without cover, and the soldier he shot happened to be the officer in charge.

So far, no one was dead, not on their side, nor on Atlas's. That in itself was probably a miracle.

Jaune now realized why his Father and Rouge hated fair fights. This was just too good.

Jaune finished dragging the detained, unconscious soldier by the side of the road, where hopefully, they'd stay safe, and out of the way.

He gave a wistful look at the soldier's armor. He would've loved to have a set. Dust powered armor might be just what he needed to pass Beacon, but each one was a complex piece of machinery that required a bodysuit to interface with, and technical know-how to put on.

He had to convince his sisters Indigo and Viola to get him one.

Jaune eyed their rifles. They were indeed much powerful than what he had slung on his shoulder, but that was exactly the problem. He might actually kill someone with a rifle so powerful.

"That's the last of them." Jaune declared. "Kaz?"

"Fucking... dirty... shitbags." grumbled Kaz, wielding a permanent marker like a brush as he illustrated yet another phallus on an Atlesian's armor.

"What happened?" asked Jaune.

"Payback," he continued grumbling. Kaz pointed to a smoking hole in his pants, proudly displaying his underwear to all, "Bastard nearly shot me, and he shot me here of all places."

Jaune shrugged. All things considered, it was a pretty nice piece of underwear.

Then he stopped, as if he realized something important.

"Wait a minute, those aren't even your pants!" Jaune exclaimed, realization dawning on him, "Don't those clothes belong to the guard you... stripped... and left naked in the MIDDLE OF A SNOWSTORM?!"

"These are spoils of war, Jaune!" Kaz declared proudly, then gave an uncaring wave, "Don't worry about em, they have aura. They'll be fine."

"Well, if you say, so." muttered Jaune as he looked up the high gates.

The faunus were confined within gates and walls nearly as high as the exterior ones.

Jaune frowned, it looked like the gates and walls were just as capable of keeping people in just as well as it could keep them out.

Well, they would be using these defenses to protect the faunus as they boarded the airships, so in a way, it was poetic justice.

Jaune gulped. "Let's go."

The snowstorm still hadn't let up. It was a certainty that the faunus enclosure was still under heavy guard, so the added cover from the snow was a much needed asset.

The last thing they needed was a goddamn hostage situation in the middle of the enemy's base.

Jaune stared into the columns and columns of identical cubes that serves as housing for the faunus laborers.

It looked exactly like the aerial shot of the place Kaz showed him the night before.

But in absolutely no way did it prepare him for this.

The first thing that struck him was the smell.

It was indescribable.

It was like a mixture of smells had blended together to form some cacophany of odor, somehow managing to capture the pungent smell of piss and shit, the bittersweet, artificial smell of antiseptics and medicines, the putrid scent of rot, several day old fish, smoke, and...

And blood and dust.

It was... hard to describe how dust smelled. Yellow dust smelled of ozone, or like nitrates. Poets would say they smelled of the storm. Depending on the purity, location it was mined, and whether it was cut or turned to powder, dust smelled different. Red dust smelled either sweet like burning pine wood, or pungent like rotting rotten eggs, like sulphur. Although those were the extremes, most dust smelled something in between those.

Light blue ice dust, and blue water dust couldn't really be _smelled_ , but were rather felt. Mere contact with ice dust chilled the body, and crushing it froze the air. Vacuo tended to import large amounts, and travellers carried them to keep food fresh.

If Jaune could describe how those smelled like, he would respond with 'fresh', as vague as that was.

All of those smells and more merged together, such that a human such as Jaune was having a difficult time identifying the individual smells.

For the faunus?

Some of the younger faunus behind him fought the urge to retch. If it was bad for Jaune, what more for those with enhanced senses of smell?

Kaz himself was pale, but refused to shake.

Jaune on the other hand, felt like shaking, but blamed it on the damn cold weather.

As hip as the sleeveless white coat of the Fang was, if there ever was a next time, he was taking one with sleeves, thank you.

Still, he had to admit that the sleeveless white coat, together with the shoulderplates on the black sleeves of his hoodie looked pretty cool.

Like ghosts in the wind, Jaune and the rest of the faunus dispersed. All were in position, the guns were held, they'd left people behind to man the chokepoints and fortifications.

All that was left was to find the refugees and get them on board the airships.

Although given the damned weather, leading to a lack of communications and visibility... they'd have to get there, secure the faunus, then wait for their rides to get here.

Jaune bit his lip.

Worst case scenario, the guards had already received word or found out who they were, and had already taken the laborers hostage. In which case, regardless of casualties, they'd have to engage the guards, then escape, and that was hoping that the weather cleared up in time.

It was horrible, but it was also unlikely. The harsh weather was a double-edged sword. It prevented them from communicating across long distances, but it stopped their enemy from doing the same. It concealed their presences, yet also prevented them from leaving.

Then there was the other problem, for whatever reason, the fucking Atlesian Army was here in an SDC Labor Camp in the middle of nowhere.

And for whatever reason as well, said fucking Atlesian Army also wasn't actively out to get them, and hopefully still didn't know that they were here. Signal this close within the base was a lot better than outside, so it was likely that they could contact their Headquarters.

They needed the sky to clear up. _Soon_.

The faunus residential quadrant was large, filled with columns and columns of windowless housing. Jaune had seen the pictures of their interiors. It would make jail cells shared by four or five inmates look comfy. Families were crammed into those rooms, and privacy was an intangible – well, even a more intangible concept to them, along with sufficient food, hot water, freedom of choice, and wi-fi.

Kaz mentioned that children were born in this dump. Jaune felt his cheeks heat up despite the cold. Given the complete lack of privacy, that must've been awkward as all hell.

Kaz's arm shot out and clutched Jaune tightly at the shoulder. Jaune gave a smile that betrayed more confidence than he actually felt, before they parted, Jaune headed left, and Kaz right.

Groups A and B had all split into teams of four, allowing them to scour every alley, as well as pass on the word to quietly assemble for boarding the airships. If they encountered resistance, then four men each would be apt for firefights in narrow alleyways, as well as to allow for other teams to flank and pin down their enemies.

Groups A and B, the search forces numbered forty men each, eighty men total. This meant that they had twenty teams, plus whatever men the Fang already had on the inside to round up more or less a thousand injured faunus laborers.

 _Shit, this is gonna take awhile._

The rest of their forces, Group C, already took over the West Quadrant's defenses.

Just as they'd planned, every time they'd pass by a gap, four men would peel off their formation and enter. If those faunus had any animal ears, they would be tensed in anticipation.

Either victory or death awaited behind each corner.

Jaune's body grew cold, and it wasn't because of the weather.

 _Where was everyone?_ They'd gone through several blocks already and still, no one.

They'd even entered several houses, to look for people.

If Jaune still had doubts that Kaz was lying to him regarding how they were treated, they were all gone now.

Jaune just wanted to burn the whole place down now.

Still, whatever personal effects and belongings they had were still there. Old, dilapidated, smelly stuffed toys that were stained with dirty tears and dust, no, not that dust, the boring dust, and soot. Pillows stained with the same thing the toys were stained with. Books with yellowing pages, the covers either torn or somewhat surviving the test of time.

In some other rooms, Jaune had even come across old portable music players. Those had become obsolete since scrolls were invented.

Jaune felt a hand on his shoulder.

He turned back to meet the masked face of one of the three that made up his four man team.

This one was with Kaz when the LT introduced him and Olive to the faunus in Vale, and of his three teammates, he was the only one that wasn't a doctor or a medic.

"Movement", the slightly older faunus had whispered, while pointing to some sort of clearing.

Jaune narrowed his eyes to see what he was pointing at, and gasped. There, near the walls, he could see faunus quickly and fearfully entering a series of warehouses.

By the looks of it, the faunus that entered the warehouse were the last ones in.

The nearby warehouses were used to store mined dust. And as if – no, the SDC probably viewed the dust as more important than the ones who mined it; that warehouses were far better fortified than the rest of the buildings in this quadrant.

The warehouses even had their own walls, not as freakishly large as the outside walls, these walls were meant to keep humans and faunus, not Grimm out.

 _They probably heard the gunfire, and tried to hide!_

If Jaune were to pick a place to hide and wait for the gunfire to stop, he would probably pick the dust warehouses too.

Hell, for some weird reason, it had air conditioning, as if this Schnee-devised hell wasn't cold enough.

Kaz's men on the inside had already begun directing several block's worth of laborers to assemble for boarding. Several teams over the comms alerted Jaune that they'd secured more or less a full tenth of the laborers.

He needed to haul ass.

Moving quickly, Jaune, with his team in tow, got to the warehouses and kicked the door open.

Only to run headlong into armed men, Omega security, with their guns toted at their faces as soon as they entered.

* * *

Jaune blinked, then crossed his eyes to look at the barrel of the gun pointed right between his eyes.

The mask was the best thing ever.

The four man team that burst through the door found themselves surrounded by angry, armed guards.

Looking around wildly, Jaune realized that these guards had ushered the faunus in this warehouse for the perfect trap.

The guards had been lying in wait around the entrance, and they couldn't fire back either. Right behind the guards were the laborers, thin, gaunt, male, female, and adult and child. If any one of them missed, the stray shots would no doubt kill someone.

These damned guards were using their own charges as bait, and now they were using them as hostages!

 _Fuck!_ , Jaune realized, _We're so, so fucked!_

Jaune could take hits, especially from what looked like a normal rifle, but up this close, on his bare flesh?

That was going to hurt. He just needed to make sure they didn't hit anything vital.

The problem were his lightly-armored companions, and while their auras weren't small, they might as well have been nothing compared to his. One shot, and they were finished!

"Don't move, or we'll shoot! I swear! I'll kill you, I'll – ", screamed the guard, threatening to splatter Jaune's brains out on the walls.

 _I can't use my rifle._ Thought Jaune, as his hands inched closer to the hilt of Crocea Mors. _But I can use my sword. I'll need to tank this shot, then..._

One of the faunus children tried to reach out for the guard holding Jaune at gunpoint, screaming, "Be careful, Mister Gaston!"

The rest of the events feel like it happened in slow-motion.

The guard, Gaston apparently, turned back, eyes widened, and mouth opening to shout something.

 _An opening!_

Jaune's hand shot to his hip and, in one fluid motion, drew his sword and struck Gaston's rifle away.

Jaune had only meant to swat the gun away and force an opening, but he had gotten way too used to striking and parrying huntsman weapons.

The end result was that he had exerted _way_ more force than was necessary.

The result of which was that Jaune cut the rifle cleanly in two, and forced Gaston off his feet and onto his ass.

As this happened, two of the White Fang soldiers behind Jaune moved far faster than he'd thought them capable.

The one to his left had seemingly grown _fuckhuge_ red claws and, sliced her opponent's weapon to shreds.

The other one, to his right, had ducked way low, only to clock her enemy's chin with a magnificent side kick, the heels jutting out of her boots – wait, heels?!

To his credit, this Gaston tried to get up to his feet, but Jaune had no intention of letting that happen, and before anyone managed to react, his white sword was poised to pierce Gaston's neck.

Everyone in the warehouse began shouting.

"Drop your weapons, and surrender the hostages!" screamed Jaune first.

"Mister Gaston!" wailed the faunus child second.

"Forget about me! Shoot!" cried Gaston to his comrades third, then turning to the faunus behind him, he shouted, "Run! Don't worry about us!"

"Help me!" screamed the remaining White Fang mook who was still held up by a guard.

"We're not letting you hurt the faunus!", cried Gaston's fellow guards.

"Everyone, like, shut up!" cried the twins in unison. How the hell did they get here?

In contrast to the frenzied screaming that happened moments ago, everyone, the guards, the Fangs, the faunus laborers, everyone, just stared slack-jawed at each other, eyes darting to and from each other.

The silence would be broken seconds later.

"We're not going to let you hurt them!" screamed Gaston.

"Hurt them?!" cried Jaune incredulously, " _We're_ not going to let _you_ hurt them!"

"Oh my fucking God." Miltiades Malachite, known in the near future as the Red Unlucky Twin, buried her masked face in her hands.

"Gaston, we can't shoot! Our guns are gone!"

"I still have a gun!"

"Oh, God, guys, he still has a gun! Jaune, please help me!"

"Mister Gaaastooooon!"

"OKAY, OKAY, LIKE. TIME OUT!" shrieked Melanie Malachite, aka the Lucky White One, with her hands in the air, shaping a T. "TIME. OUT. TIME OUT. TIME OUT!"

The interior of the warehouse was again deathly silent, all eyes focusing on that one stiletto-wearing White Fang-garbed faunus with totally fake headband bunny ears.

Jaune blinked. The bunny ears were white, yet her hair was black. How did he not notice this?

On the other hand, Jaune didn't fail to notice how the Fang uniform seemed to compliment the Twins' lithe, petite figures.

The Lucky Twin pointed her finger at the downed guard, "You. First." she said.

Having his weapon cut cleanly in two did nothing to diminish Gaston's indignation, "We're not going to let you kidnap and hurt these faunus!"

Melanie then moved her finger to the faunus child, now crying to what looked like his mom.

"M-Mister Gaston's a nice man!" the faunus kid cried, "He tries to stop the other guards from picking on us!"

Jaune gaped. Now that nothing was threatening to blow its hard, hot load into Jaune's face as he knelt submissively, it was starting to make sense. Instead of using the faunus as human... no, faunus shields, the guards elected to stand _between_ their charges and who they perceived to be threats. They used themselves as shields!

Guards actually guarding people they were supposed to protect?! _That wasn't how it was supposed to work!_

"Wait," interrupted Jaune, "You mean the guards don't oppress and beat you?"

A thin, bruised man with bandages on his arms stepped forward and placed a hand on the faunus child's shoulder. He looked to be his father.

"Guard Captain Gaston Alabaster doesn't." the man's weary voice rasped. "We beg of you, don't hurt him. He's only done his best to protect us from the other guards."

Jaune closed his eyes.

"We're not here to hurt anyone, if we can help it." Jaune spoke, "We're here to get you laborers out."

The eyes of all the faunus laborers gathered there changed from wide-eyed panic, to hopeful attention.

"We have airships ready." continued Jaune, "We'll get you guys out of here and into Vale."

Whispering broke out in the crowd. Some began smiling, mouths began twitching upwards.

"We'll get you somewhere safe!" Jaune pleaded, "You just have to come with us!"

A lot of the faunus began moving forward eagerly, yet some remained hesitant.

"You're White Fang." Gaston said, finally recognizing the uniform. "You're here for them."

Jaune nodded.

Gaston turned back to the faunus, and shouted "Go with them! They'll get everyone normal lives again!"

Whatever hesitation remained with the faunus vanished, and they began running, or in the cases of those with injuries, shambled out, ushered by the other guards, the remaining grunt, and the Malachite Twins.

Only the child and his parents remained with the guard captain and Jaune.

"Mister." the child begged, "You're not going to hurt Mister Gaston, right?"

"Please! He may be a human, but he protected and bled for us!" cried out the mother.

"You're White Fang," the father whispered, "I understand you have much hate for humanity, but please, not all of them are evil."

"Everyone, it's fine." intoned the guard with a resigned smile, "Whatever good I've done doesn't wipe out the bad. For the longest time, I'd just stood by and watched my comrades oppress you; and when the higher ups command me to stand down, I do."

Gaston's unremarkable brown eyes met the monstrous slits of Jaune's bone-white Grimm mask.

"Do what you want with me, just get them to safety."

Jaune sheathed his sword, to the surprise of the four.

Jaune pulled off the mask. It always was loose and uncomfortable anyway. Along with the mask, he pulled off his white hood.

The child, the father, the mother, Gaston's, all their eyes went wide.

With his face freed of those stuffy things, he turned to Gaston.

"I'll need your help loading the faunus into the airships."

Their eyes were still wide, but he could see the corners of their mouths as they tilted slightly upwards.

Jaune simply gave them a wink and a sheepish smile, and put the mask and hood back on.

The snowstorm ended, and the skies cleared up.

* * *

Wind blowing snow all around, the airships had finally touched ground.

Night had arrived, and the moon was high in the sky. While nearly everyone here was a faunus, some had been in captivity for so long that their eyes and nightvision had deteriorated. The White Fang had begun using the torch functions of their scrolls as makeshift signals to ferry the laborers in.

By now, nearly half were loaded and strapped in their seats.

 _Not very long now_. Jaune mused. There were more wounded than usual, and so their personnel took longer than estimated. No matter how much you shouted, shambling amputees could only move so fast.

It was like they couldn't get a _leg_ up on the competition, eh? eh?

Kaz's reports, and Gaston's estimates both agreed that they were still far from loading everyone on.

The way the Fang received Gaston and his men was... frosty, to say the least. Still, the bunch of laborers vouching for the men got them some grudging acceptance.

The minutes clocked but still, nothing, and that grudging acceptance was slowly turning into approval, as suspicions decreased and the man still hadn't ratted them out to their bosses.

But still, Kaz and Jaune checked in with the faunus camping out every fortification on the way to the Western Quadrant every five minutes, and still nothing. No sign of a counterattack or reprisal, nothing.

 _Even in their most optimistic planning, they hadn't expected this._

 _Did Atlas seriously have no idea they were there? Or was Atlas simply letting them go?_

They'd been here for hours in total, and while the enemies they'd detained were still gagged and tied, for sure the fucking Atlesian Military would've picked up something was wrong.

Standard procedure for Atlas was to use its robots for any anomaly. Robots could be recovered and recycled after they won or lost, anyways, making them invaluable for meat shields, for scouts onto enemy controlled terrain, as sacrifices to delay superior enemy forces.

Even if the Atlesian Army felt that its enemies posed no threat to its human personnel, they still sent robots.

 _So why aren't they?_ , thought Jaune. _Even in the unlikely event that Atlesian technology was hindered by the snowstorm, their communications should be working fine now. Someone's got to have noticed._

There was a change in the wind, and he could feel two familiar presences take their places to his left and right.

"They're not doing anything." cheerfully spoke Melanie, who had taken her now customary place at Jaune's right, "Like, seems their reputation is way exaggerated."

"Don't jinx it." sternly reprimanded Miltiades at the left, "They could just be distracted by something, or they could be, like, planning some trick."

"Thanks for following me." Jaune interrupted before they could begin arguing in earnest, "It's a huge help, I appreciate it."

Twin pairs of sea-green eyes turned to Jaune as his eyes furrowed.

"But if you two are here, who's with Junior?"

* * *

Normally, any red-blooded male would be ecstatic to find his family jewels in the tender and loving grasp of a beautiful, well-endowed woman with beautiful eyes.

Hei Xiong Junior would beg to differ.

Junior squealed into the air as his crotch was trapped yet again in the vice-like grip of another furious, though, slightly older blondie, with sky-blue eyes instead of lilac ones.

"Tell me where he is and I'll let you go!" shrieked Viridian Arc as she tightened her fist, shoving a picture of Jaune in the Club Owner's face.

"I don't know!" cried Junior, "He could be in Atlas right now; I really have no fucking idea!"

"Excuse me?!"

"Arrggh, Gaah!" Junior screamed, "Melanie! Miltia! Help me!"

A fraction of Junior's men had just been loaned out to Roman Torchwick, the other fraction lay in the hospital, halfway to the morgue, and the remaining fraction had apparently learned their lessons not to deal with angry blonde huntresses anymore.

At the bar, two slightly-beaten, naked faunus began to wake from their alcohol-induced slumber. One was a medic, the other was a doctor, and neither remembered how they got there.

Where were their clothes...? Last they could remember, they were in their uniforms.

Weren't they supposed to join this White Fang rescue mission..? All they could recall were flashes of red and white before everything went dark...

* * *

"Eh, Junior's probably fine." waved off Melanie dismissively. "Club'll, like, take months to fix. No one should be dropping by."

"Junior'll probably say you guys are square now." remarked the other twin.

"Well, if you say so." shrugged Jaune, as he looked back at the impromptu landing zone. Those that could walk were already carrying what little personal belongings they had, mostly keepsakes. The wounded were being given priority and assisted by the guards loyal to Gaston and the rest of the medically-trained Fangs.

It looked like they'd already won the day. In just... maybe half an hour? They'd be able to get in the air and away from this place.

His palms refused to quit itching, and he bade his men to remain on guard, stoking their fears to the point of paranoia.

The day wasn't over yet.

The itching had reached a crescendo, and Jaune's eyes narrowed.

 _Whatever it was, it was here._

As if on cue, an explosion shook the earth beneath their feet, and dark smoke began rising from the defenses they'd taken around the camp.

The boisterous, yet hushed, hopeful conversations that had been taking place between the soon-to-be refugees had gone completely quiet. Their faces changed from hopeful to fearful.

Gaston had brought his scroll to his ear, inquiring from whoever he was able to contact about what was going on. Jaune brought a finger to his earpiece and from the corner of his eye, he saw Kaz do the same.

"This is Fox." spoke Kaz to the channel, "Defenses, report."

"Dark Flame Master 1 here, nothing to report!"

"This is Dark Dragonslayer 1, there was an explosion further near the center!"

"Black Knight of Vengeance 1! We've heard gunfire and explosions from Lone Chaos Wolf 1's location!"

"Lonely Avenger 1! Nothing to –"

Suppressing the urge to cringe at the codenames, Jaune tried to visualize what had happened. So far, the ones that were safe were those south, north, and east of their current position. Lone Chaos Wolf made up the easternmost tip of their perimeter defenses.

Panicked voices suddenly shrieked out from the earpiece, "Leader, this is Demon Soul 1, and we're under attack, it's a fucki –"

 _Damn!_

Whoever they were, they were coming in from the east and tearing through his men like butter!

A cold shiver shot its way up Jaune's spine.

 _A huntsman?! It had to be! What else could tear through so many men that fast?!_

"Avenging Sword, oh fuck, we can't stop i –"

"Retreat! Retreat!"

"Blood Apocalypse 1, it's huge, and it's runni –"

Kaz looked to be on the verge of a breakdown. With the exception of the "huge" comment, the speed at which it tore through Omega's defenses seemed to lend further credence that it was a fully-fledged huntsman after them.

"Kaz, Gaston!" screamed Jaune, as man and faunus turned to look, "We have to meet them, we can't allow a battle this close to the airships and the targets!"

Gaston nodded his assent and started running immediately. Kaz nodded to a doctor, apparently their contact within the Redwings Group, to take charge before he too, started moving, his men in tow.

Jaune turned back, and met the twins' eyes. Before he could speak, Melanie beat him to the punch and gave him a saucy wink, as Miltiades lifted her hands in the air and groaned.

As everyone broke into a run, Jaune realized something. Despite the panic chilling his blood worse than the cold ever could, Jaune couldn't help but smile.

At his right was Melanie Malachite, the beautiful girl that helped cheer him up when he was down, along with Kaz Miller, the first person to ever trust and have faith in him.

At his left was Miltiades Malachite, the girl who'd given him advice and counsel just yesterday night, along with Gaston Alabaster, who stood up for what was right, even if his comrades didn't.

And behind him were fifty brave, driven faunus soldiers. All of them ready to bleed to protect their kin.

 _For the first time in his life, Jaune fought alongside friends._

 _Comrades._

Who knew what the future held, whether their actions would cause more suffering than good, or whether all they did today was to throw these slaves into another's service.

For the moment, they didn't care about that.

What mattered right now, was that they would stand and hold the line so others could live.

For the moment, they were heroes.

 _For the moment, we're heroes!_ exulted Jaune.

Jaune almost believed it for a moment.

Jaune almost believed it, just as a chrome gray fist the size of a fully-grown man crashed through the wall to the left.

Jaune and the group were mid-run when a thunderous crash roared and a cloud of debris swept over them like a tidal wave. The goliath-deterring wall of stone and concrete shattered like glass and fell upon them.

Before he was aware of anything, Jaune found himself on the ground, head low, hands shielding his neck. His aura was barely touched, and he was still well in the green even this late in the day. Judging from the moans and gurgles in the background, he was one of the few that were unharmed.

As Jaune struggled to get back up to his feet, he had heard the Malachite Twins gasp in unison. He had heard Gaston swear, and he had heard various similar profanities from the rest of the men.

Most startling however, was Kaz's reaction.

The smoke and debris had cleared up, and instead of finding cover, Keppel Azure had merely stood still, frozen in shock, eyes wide open and sunglasses removed.

Jaune turned his head and with a gasp, beheld what laid them low.

The wall-crushing metal fist was attached to an even larger arm connected to a mighty torso, bereft of a head, armed with missiles, gatling guns, sensors and other instruments of death, standing upright on two great legs.

It was unpainted, its metal a cold gray; the robot stood like a man, a warrior, a _king._

As it shifted its fist to a large, dark cannon, Jaune was reminded of figures from old stories, that of noble, chivalrous knights believed to be holy, sworn to an ancient sovereign before the establishment of the kingdoms.

"Metal Gear," Kaz spoke.

"Paladin." Jaune had uttered.

"Automated Battlesuit." Gaston remarked.

"Damn." Melanie had whispered.

"Shit." Miltiades had cried.

Laser sights red as blood flared from its body, lighting up the cold darkness of night like malevolent stars. It turned its feet, body and arm-cannons to face them, the groan of the metal almost sounding like an inhuman groan.

Looking down at its enemies like an angry god; the Atlesian Paladin-290 had roared its dominance.

* * *

 **Chapter 6 End.**


	8. Chapter 7: Schnee Eater

**AN:** I have no idea how writing this chapter took so long. Fight scenes are hard. Once again, I am overwhelmed by the support, and again I earnestly pray that this chapter won't disappoint.

* * *

 **Arc of the Revolution**

 **Chapter 7: Dust Gear Arc 3**

 **Schnee Eater**

* * *

 _ **The Atlesian Paladin-290**_

Developed by the greatest minds in the Kingdom of Atlas in cooperation with the Schnee Dust Company, the Atlesian Paladin stands at the forefront of protection against the Grimm.

Standing at 23 feet, weighing 226 tons, with armor made from the latest dust alloys, and capable of both being piloted manually and auto-pilot; the Atlesian Paladin-290 stands as a perfect fusion and stellar example of Atlesian Robotics and Atlesian Armor.

Named after heroes and defenders of old, the Paladin-290 was the development name of dust-warhead-equipped, bipedal walking tanks. The 290 is capable of walking or running, with a top speed of 260 mph, through even the roughest terrains that would stop normal vehicles. It is also equipped with multiple Solid-Eye Laser sights, allowing it to fight, unhindered by lack of visibility.

The Paladin is modular and versatile, with the capability to equip a vast multitude of weaponry, allowing it to perform a staggering variety of roles. With the proper loadout, a single paladin can wage local war all on its lonesome.

The most common of its loadouts are TX-55 Energy Cannons mounted on its arms; Vulcan Raven-C007 double-barreled machine guns; and Fatman-026 Homing Missiles. Coupled with its raw strength, these weapons allow the Paladin to defeat a wide variety of Grimm, from large quantities of Beowolves to even the colossal sized goliaths.

Possessing the latest in communications, and detection technology, the Paladin can serve as a command unit for groups of soldiers. The paladin can detect and point out enemy positions via mixtures of radar and sonar, and its long-range communications allow it to transmit data to helmets of Atlesian Army men immediately. The Paladin's cockpit itself contains tactical maps that any commander can make use of.

Finally, the Paladin-290 is also connected to Atlas' combat database, accrued through years of battle with both with subversive elements and the Grimm, allowing its AI to recognize patterns as well as learn strategies and tactics to defeat the enemies of the Kingdoms.

 _The Kingdom of Atlas: Protecting the Light of the Future._

 **-Entry Taken from** _ **The Atlesian Military Histories Vol. 2**_

* * *

"The Citizens need protection."

 **-General James Ironwood**

* * *

"The Citizens need protection."

 **-Ironwood's Iron Woods*: Strongest Condoms in Remnant**

*Ironwood's Iron Woods gained much prominence after the New Fang's victory and subsequent occupation of Vale, particularly among faunuskind. Upon interview of why condoms with the countenance of the stern general were popular, interviewed faunus had echoed, "It makes your dick look like a dick" or other variations thereof.

* * *

 _Laser sights red as blood flared from its body, lighting up the cold darkness of night like malevolent stars. Turning its feet, body, and cannons to face them, the Atlesian Paladin-290 roared dominance._

" _Metal Gear," Kaz spoke._

" _Paladin." Jaune had uttered._

" _Automated Battlesuit." Gaston remarked._

" _Damn." Melanie had whispered._

" _Shit." Miltiades had cried._

* * *

"MOVE!" cried out Jaune Arc as he tackled the seemingly-paralyzed Kaz out of the way.

His timing could not have been better. As soon as they hit the ground, two blindingly-white, deafeningly-loud flashes erupted from the mech's colossal arms.

Where they had stood, scant moments ago was rendered a smoky crater.

Kaz sputtered, and seemed to regain control of his senses. Good, Jaune didn't need to slap the sense back into him.

For better or for worse, the energy blasts that nearly hit them filled the air with smoke and steam. They couldn't see the robot, but neither could it see them, _right?_

As soon as those thoughts crossed Jaune's mind, sharp, blood-red light pierced through the haze, and began moving around erratically.

Jaune was reminded of Grimm hunting for prey in the dead of night.

 _Laser sights_ , Jaune realized. It could barely detect them in the steam!

"W-What do we do, Jaune?!" Kaz cried.

Jaune grit his teeth. This thing was capable of terrible, terrible damage. From what he'd seen, two or three shots from those cannons could bring down the airships they'd brought, and with them, the people they'd come here to Omega to save.

"We have to draw it away from the airships!" Jaune shouted into the channel, "Spread out, try to keep moving! Don't let it get a clear target!"

"Sir." That was Gaston's voice. Good. They'd given him their frequency as soon as they thought he was on their side.

"Like, got it." Melanie's voice this time. She and her sister were probably the best fighters Jaune's side had.

"Ugh, fine." Miltia. Good.

One by one, the rest of the men began acknowledging his order. Still, not all of them got out of the surprise attack unscathed. No one was dead yet, but Jaune wasn't taking any chances.

"Get the wounded out. Now!" He ordered.

A red laser sight seemed to focus on his and Kaz's position, and with nary a word, both of them dived away before another energy blast blew it up.

Kaz, crouched behind a particularly large piece of rubble, and began firing shots at the origin of the light, and Jaune followed suit.

The mech's laser sights practically broadcasted its location, shining so bright a blind man could see it.

The high-pitched clangs of metal striking metal was all they needed to hear to verify that their shots were hitting.

From the darkness, guns started lighting up, sending more and more bullets at the machine. From his peripheral vision, Jaune guessed around 17 men were firing at the mech.

But if the machine was as durable as it looked...

The smoke cleared up, proving Jaune's suspicions right. The bright metal of the mech glinted even in the limited moonlight.

All they had managed to do was barely scratch its paintjob.

And... maybe piss it off. Could advanced AI's get pissed off? That was something to add to the parameters of the Turing Test.

The metal groaned as it turned, sounding eerily like a roar, as the robot turned to its left and fired its cannons yet again. Jaune's breath hitched in its throat, as entire buildings went up in white flames. Did anyone –

"I'm alright!" came the rushed tones of Melanie Malachite.

"We can't do this forever!" cried Miltia.

"She's right!" Kaz grunted, "We can't fight that thing in the open!"

 _Goddammit, they're right._ thought Jaune, but they couldn't go back, not with that thing on their tails.

They'd need to find somewhere to hold it off, or find some way to destroy it.

But what could they do?! They were in the middle of a mining facility in the middle of nowhere! What did this stupid place have that could help him take down this piece of...

And then it hit him.

Jaune grinned, wide.

He might be able to burn this place down like he'd wanted to after all.

The big machine had brought out machine guns on its arms. Apparently it was getting tired of missing its energy cannon.

Keeping his head low as bullets struck the rubble he was using as cover, Jaune brought a finger to his earpiece.

"Gaston!" Jaune cried, "We've emptied all the houses, right?!"

"Yes, sir." The guard replied, voice calm under duress.

"I get it!" Kaz remarked, "With the houses empty, we can use them as cover from big bitch over there!"

"Not just that!" Jaune couldn't keep the enthusiasm out of his voice, "They're near the warehouses aren't they?"

"What warehouses!?" shrieked Miltiades, image flickering as she dodged left and right. For some reason, the robot had decided to only shoot her for the time being.

"Why are those warehouses, like, important now?" inquired the slightly calmer tones of Melanie.

"I'm talking about _those_ warehouses." Jaune had replied.

Jaune could _feel_ the moment they all realized what he was thinking about. _Yup, they got it._

"I'll go and rally the men!" declared Kaz, "We'll need plenty of hands to do what you're thinking!"

"I know the location of the other warehouses and reserves!" shouted Gaston, "I'm going with you, Miller."

"We'll lead them to you." assured Jaune, as Melanie responded with an affirmative, and Miltiades sounded like she was on fire, "Just give us the signal."

Miltiades shrieked as the colossal robot launched more energy blasts at her, sending her flying backwards into a mound of snow.

Kaz and Gaston used that distraction to sprint away from the fight, as Jaune and Melanie instead used that opportunity to charge towards it.

Melanie had long discarded the White Fang boots she had worn for disguise and opted to simply wear her heels. This did nothing to impede her remarkable speed as she rushed through snow and rubble to close in on the machine and aid her sister.

Launching herself into the air, she used her left leg to strike on the robot's arm, and turning her kick into a spin, used that momentum to kick with her right.

Her kicks landed, if the screeching of metal against metal and sparks were any indication.

In response, the mech simply lifted its leg in an attempt to stomp its new attacker as she landed.

Swift Melanie dodged the colossal foot easily, as expected.

What wasn't expected was that the sheer force of the blow was enough to cause her to stumble even as she dodged it cleanly.

Still, that little attack bought enough time for Jaune to finally close in.

If bullets weren't strong enough to pierce its armor, then maybe _this_ was.

Drawing Crocea Mors, he positioned himself right in between the mech's legs, and with a mighty jump, stabbed upwards.

The ancient metal found purchase in the beast's steely flesh... and...

And...

The mech looked down.

Miltiades was able to get up and stare slack-jawed at the spectacle.

Melanie simply raised an eyebrow and used that time to rise and pad the snow off her outfit.

Jaune pulled, and pulled, and tried to pull again, even lifting his feet up and trying to kick off to no avail.

His sword, no, _he_... was stuck on the mech's crotch.

...

...

...

The mech stood frozen. It tried rotating its torso, it tried raising its arms up and down, it tried running around, and then it tried lifting its legs up and down like a petulant toddler giving a tantrum.

All its efforts were to no avail. Jaune had somehow stabbed a spot directly underneath the mech's crotchplate, too far for its stiff arm-cannons to reach. Its legs were too far apart from each other to squeeze Jaune off. Nor could shaking itself throw out hundreds of pounds of hero wannabe plus armor into the snow.

For a brief moment, the AI, greatest of its time, and brainchild of the greatest minds in Atlas, no, the kingdoms, pondered on the benefits and consequences of firing its own dust-warheads on its groin.

Miltiades Malachite leaned in to whisper in her sister's ear, "Melanie, what's going on?"

Melanie, on the other hand, was completely nonplussed. Shrugging, she remarked, "Jaune's like, bravely holding the robot off, sis. Can't you see?"

Miltiades looked back to where her friend was hanging off a robot's crotch.

The robot that so nearly managed to take their lives had now settled for flashing its obnoxiously bright laser sights into Jaune's eyes.

Melanie suppressed a cringe, that's gotta be painful on the see-see places.

"I won't submit!" cried Jaune, "I'll never give up!"

Then, without warning or resistance, the colossal thing had stopped.

As Jaune's eyes tried to recover, the sisters' eyes went wide, did Jaune manage to –

Before they could finish that thought, the mech had started running, _sprinting_ at the two of them.

Miltiades had dodged left, and Melanie had lunged right as the thing barrelled through between them. Keeping the enemy in their sights, both of them spun mid-leap, as if it the evasive maneuver was a choreographed dance.

If the massive thing were after one of them, it wouldn't have a choice now but to turn its back on one of them. It was one of their favored tactics back in the Club, they'd defeated drunken Huntsmen-in-Training with it.

However, the huge machine charged straight ahead, and it was then they realized that they weren't the machine's targets.

No, the machine was aiming for the buildings that served as housing for the laborers they'd just rescued.

The machine had gained speed, the movement of its legs quickening, and its pace becoming even more frenzied.

Jaune's eyes were still adjusting back to the dark when the machine had suddenly halted in front of what looked to be a sturdy wall.

The mech had placed both arms on the wall as if to steady itself, but why would it need to steady itself...?

There was a brief pause, and a moment of realization.

Wait a sec, Jaune had seen this before... it was in... it was in...

It was in a porn.

Jaune's eyes widened with fear when he realized what the mech was up to.

With a mighty roar, the mech thrusted its hips forward, its armored groin leaving dents and holes in the reinforced concrete.

"GAH!" yelped the blonde boy currently serving as the mech's cup. He had taken the brunt of the... uh... _blow_.

Jaune grit his teeth hard. If he let go, not only would he lose his sword, but the situation would deteriorate back to a battle on open ground. The Twins would be in danger!

Crocea Mors's grip on the mech's hard iron pelvis did not waver, and neither would Jaune's two hands wrapped around its hard shaft.

... Errr, hilt. His hands were wrapped tightly and firmly around the hilt. Yes.

The machine had stopped and looked down, perplexed that Jaune had just managed to hang in there and take it.

Jaune in return merely gave the mech a cocky (Melanie would say saucy) smile, as if to say "Come at me bro."

Seemingly angered by Jaune's freely-given consent, the Machine gave another bestial roar and began resuming its furious, wild thrusting, trying to literally nail Jaune into the wall.

*Thrust!

"GAH!"

*Thrust!

"OH!"

* _Thrust!_

"ARRGH!"

"Sister, dearest. What am I seeing?" asked Miltiades Malachite, as she watched a robot try to fuck a building as if it was a small dog.

"Modern art," chided Melanie as she snapped more pictures with her scroll, "Now keep quiet, I need to time this. This'll be a decent entry to that photography competition."

Really, the wild, flailing snow provided an excellent contrast to the gray concrete and the darker asphalt. Maybe she'd be able to beat that bunny girl and take first place this time.

With a mighty roar that sent tremors into the earth, the beast plunged its groin into the wall, shattering it to pieces and finally dislodging the literal thorn at its... well, the front was a side, right?

"Arrghaargh!" Jaune quipped eloquently as he was violently dislodged from the thing's armored codpiece, tumbling on the floor of the ruined building.

Thankfully, however, the _sword in the stones_ , was dislodged with him. Jaune shook the dizziness off. That could've been worse.

Despite the fact that they were apparently able to, Atlesian Paladins were not built to thrust their hips into various objects. As a result, despite the furious pounding Jaune took, his aura was still in the green.

Crouching to collect his blade, he looked up only to find himself face to face with yet another barrel threatening to blow its hot white load on his face.

He raised his shield just in time as the cannon sent a blast of dust-synthesized energy at him.

He was braced, but he couldn't take the sheer force of it, and the blast sent him crashing through another wall.

Compared to the groin attack, _this_ had hurt. He lost an even bigger chunk of aura there.

He looked down at his smoking shield. Somehow, the old metal had held off a blast from one of Remnant's most advanced weaponry. Stories of Julius Arc had boasted of how Crocea Mors was unbreakable, but it still evoked awe in Jaune every time he'd seen the legends proven right.

Jaune looked back up as the building he was just in collapsed. One of its walls had had holes drilled into it by a giant robot groinplate, and he had been sent flying at the opposite wall. Little wonder it broke.

Silently, he crept up and laid himself prone near the snow and debris. He was finally able to put some distance between him and the mech. He could still hear the robot's footsteps thrashing around though, but he couldn't hear fighting.

 _Melanie and Miltia must be safe._

On cue, a voice whispered in his ear, somehow expressing concern despite the hushed tone, "Jaune are you alright?!"

"Miltia," Jaune acknowledged, "I'm alright. You guys?"

"We're fine!" Miltia replied, "But, like, goddammit, what's the plan?"

"You, like, didn't hear?" came the smug tones of Melanie, "Truly, dearest sister, you are a credit to the team."

Despite the situation, Jaune's lips quirked upwards.

"Still, they're, like, still taking a while," mused Melanie, "I thought that they'd be like, done with the preparations with how long you were taking with your boyfriend, Jaune."

Jaune felt his cheeks heat up despite the cold, "Sh-shut up!"

Jaune risked a quick glance at the mech. It ceased stomping around, and had reverted back to using its laser sights to scan through the rubble.

Jaune's eyes narrowed. As long as the mech had those, it wouldn't fall for what Kaz and Gaston were setting up. They'd need to do something about them.

For sure, the mech had other means of detecting threats, but the more they could hamper this thing's sight, the better their chances were.

Jaune counted two static laser sighted cameras on its torso, one movable one under the equivalent of its belly, several on its shoulders and arms.

He could maybe take out the one at the belly with a jump, but no way could he leap high enough to take out the higher ones.

"Melanie, Miltia, could you take out the one under the chest?"

There was a little silence, some shuffling on the other end before Melanie's voice came in, "We can, but we're still far away. We'll like, need a distraction."

Miltia's voice butt in, "Mech almost caught us with the lasers. We don't have any cover to use to sneak close."

Jaune had felt their aura levels even back in the club. While the mech's attacks damaged his aura somewhat, they would completely reduce the aura of either one of the twins. If there was anyone here who could distract and hold the thing off, it was him.

Jaune knew his aura reserves were large, even for his family, but how much aura did an average hunstman-in-training have?

Jaune checked his aura levels. He was still surprisingly in the green, he could take a couple of hits before he even left it.

Turning back to the mech, Jaune could see it approach. It was walking dead center in one of the residential area's narrowest streets.

Even in the middle of the road, the mech's huge bulk was still conveniently close to the surrounding buildings.

 _Close enough that even his abysmal jumping skills could reach, if he jumped off from one of the buildings._

Taking a deep breath, Jaune assured them, "You'll get your decoy."

"Could you like, ready some sort of signal when it's safe for us to get close?"

"Oh, you'll know." Jaune looked back up, the mech was going right where he wanted it. He gave a nervous laugh, "You'll know."

Kaz always did say that to find him, one only needed to go towards the smoke and gunfire after all.

* * *

The battle was going terribly.

Winter Schnee's grip on the table tightened harder.

The right side of the screen displayed the tactical map, icons representing projected numbers of the _beasts_ overran her defenses in the south. Her Atlesian Knights were gaining casualties by the hundreds, and now even her Soldiers were taking losses. Morale was worsening, and soon she'd have to take the field.

The left side of the map displayed the feed from the Prototype Atlesian Paladin-290, where she realized that it was _faunus_ , not the _beasts_ that had attacked her from the West.

Her fingers cracked the material of the table.

A simultaneous attack by the White Fang and _the Grimm_.

Yes, the _Beasts_ of Extinction, the filthy _animals_ had attacked her from the south, and shortly after, the White Fang had used the distraction to infiltrate them from the west.

Omega was deep in the Grimmlands, the lands no Kingdom dared put ownership to on account of its denizens. Grimm attacks were common, even more so here due to the negativity generated by the faunus that served as _her Father_ 's laborers.

Her nose scrunched up in distaste. She held no love for the faunus, but she wasn't fool enough to delude herself that the SDC didn't deserve the White Fang's hatred in some way.

 _Yet, it is necessary. Remnant is a place of sacrifice._

Standard procedure here was to commit the bulk of her forces to intercept the Grimm, as the noise and gunfire from the fighting would only serve to drive the laborers to even more of a panic, which would only attract more Grimm.

So she had committed the bulk of her forces, leaving only a screening force to sound the alarm if the Grimm had managed to enter the base from a different side.

She did not expect the powerful snowstorm that masked the surroundings and cut off communications from her scouts. Nor did she expect that Camp Omega's security would be defeated so quickly, without so much as causing a fuss.

Winter's icy blue eyes sharpened.

At first glance, anyone would say that the White Fang were simply here to rescue the laborers.

But somehow timing the gap in security caused by upgrading the Atlesian Knights and the Vytal Festival, along with a heavy snowstorm, along with one of the biggest damned Grimm attacks the place had ever seen?

It could be that they were here for the laborers, or it could also be that they were here for the research. Maybe both.

 _Better safe than sorry._

 _But how did they know of its presence in the first place?,_ she thought, before it hit her and she shook her head.

Because of Atlas and the SDC, Winter had long believed that every faunus she met had a fifty-fifty chance of being there by design; as a member of the White Fang.

Winter was wrong.

That ratio was much, much higher.

She had seen the white-bone masks of the Fang through the Paladin's cameras, and reluctantly, had sent such a powerful unit after them.

The Paladin was a prototype, and few among her men even knew it existed, let alone knew how to pilot them. Thankfully, the Paladin's AI was connected to Atlas's Combat Databases, allowing it to operate autonomously.

In another world, perhaps, if the White Fang didn't intercept her reserves, she would be able to send them and the Paladin to assist the defenses. Seeing the Paladin's strength, no doubt it would be able to turn the tides, then she could return to her mission of finding _his_ research.

Not in this world, though.

She had barely a few hours to search through the base before she realized _he_ had hidden his research somewhere in the base. She didn't have much of a description to go on, only that she was going after failed experiments and specimens, and notes.

Also the fact that General Ironwood himself viewed it as important enough to send in a small army to procure.

Winter frowned, then let out a deep breath.

 _Perfect_. Winter repeated in her head. She was perfect.

She was shocked out of her reverie as a white flash glinted in the Paladin's camera feed.

Sitting up and knocking the chair she sat on over, she watched as a white-cloaked figure leaped down one of the nearby buildings on the side of the Paladin.

The figure had a sword in one hand and a shield in the other, and seemed to gleam in the moonlight.

The White-Cloak brought the sword down hard, dead center into the camera feed, but that was not what shocked Winter to her very core.

She had seen the Twin Golden Moons of the Arc Family on that shield.

As the feed devolved into static, the last things she saw were the Arc-crested shield, the bone-white mask of the Fang, and the youth's mocking smile.

Winter would've sworn had she not kicked the habit.

The gears in her head were whirring so fast one could almost see smoke.

The Arcs were renowned allies of Ozpin and Beacon, and by extension, friends to Atlas as well.

 _Arc Shield, Fang Mask, Mocking Smile._

 _Weiss!_

 _Ozpin IS Vale. The Arcs work for Ozpin. The Arcs fight against Atlas._

 _Weiss!_

 _The Arcs who fight against Atlas work for Ozpin who IS Vale._

 _Weiss is in Vale! Weiss is in danger!_

Winter's normally immaculate face twisted into a furious one.

 _Are the Arcs working on behalf of Ozpin, or are they doing this behind his back?! Are they traitors, or is the Fang attempting to frame them?! Perhaps they mean to play both sides of the board?! Were they here on behalf of Vale?! Weiss!_

Winter took deep breaths, and tried to calm down. She brought up everything she knew of the Arc Family.

The Arc Family had strongly opposed the SDC's Labor Policies, but in the end, grudgingly conceded their necessity. Like all Huntsmen, they were made famous and popularized by the media. The Twins Indigo Arc and Viola Arc were especially known to her and...

Winter's eyes widened.

It was not known to her what the Arc Twins were working on, but as they worked in the same circles, it was likely they knew of _his_ research. _They'd leaked its presence to the White Fang! It had to be them!_

It had all started to make sense to Winter. The sudden, opportune, and very specific attack, the weaknesses and schematics of the camp, they knew it all!

Had she any doubts that the Fang were after the research, they were gone now.

The screen had switched to the points-of-view from the Paladin's other cameras, but Winter paid them no more heed.

Delegating command to her aide, she'd taken her sword and rushed out of the Command Room.

* * *

Jaune Arc let out a loud cry as he struggled to hold on his blade.

He had leaped out and plunged Crocea Mors into the mech's torso, right into one of its laser sighted cameras. He had shanked the one on the left, so there was still the right camera to break.

The mech was struggling and thrashing about and trying to ensure he didn't though.

Jaune's eyes narrowed. For the plan to work, he needed to disable as many of the thing's eyes as possible. The ones on the shoulders were bad, and taking them out would reduce risk of failure but it was ultimately unnecessary. This thing could make red glowy side-glances all it wanted, but he... _they_ needed the front cameras dead.

 _Especially the one on the belly. The one that watched where the thing was going._

As his left hand grasped the sword still embedded on the mech, Jaune winded his right hand back.

Shifting his shield back into a sheath, he reached out and struck the right camera as hard as he could.

The sound of reinforced glass breaking under his blow was music to his ears.

 _One more camera,_ thought Jaune.

However, the mech had other ideas.

Apparently remembering how it dislodged Jaune the first time he was stuck, the mech puffed out its chest, and dove for the buildings, intending to slam the boy flat against another wall again.

 _Just as planned_. Jaune was loath to release the sword, but his only plan to take out the belly-cam relied on preempting the robot's actions. Jaune kept his eyes on the ground.

Just before the mech crashed into a wall, Jaune let go.

The sheath had fallen somewhere.

Jaune, on the other hand, had fallen directly under the mech.

Directly under the groinplate that he had stabbed, and under the mech's torso.

And right under the mech's torso, was the last, remaining front camera it had.

He bit back a cry as he fell onto the snowy street, and, quickly rolling around, trained his rifle right at the remaining target.

Jaune emptied the entire magazine on it.

This close, lying on his back, even Jaune couldn't miss.

His spirits rose as he saw his point-blank shots eventually shatter glass.

The mech's reaction was immediate, even as its feet faced forward, its torso pivoted around, both cannons aimed at a shieldless Jaune.

Jaune ground his teeth, no shield, no cover, and no time to dodge. He prepared to take the blow only to hear the sound of breaking glass.

Two blurs landed almost simultaneously on its shoulder-cameras, rending the mech blind, or at least human-level in the dark of night. Miltia had both claws sunk into the mech's left, and Melanie was crouched on its right like a bug, the points of her heels puncturing deep into what were the robot's eyes.

Before the thing could fire, Miltia, with a grunt, twisted her claws and tried to sway the robot's arm. From the right, Melanie simply kicked off, and flipped gracefully on the snow-filled ground.

Both redirected the robot's aim by inches.

The cannons still fired, wild energy exploding on Jaune's immediate left and Jaune's right.

"Miss us?" quipped Melanie, appearing on her now customary place at Jaune's right, hand outstretched to lift him up.

"You have no idea." grinned Jaune, he was about to take it before something glinted at his left.

"You owe me for this." groaned Miltia as she handed Jaune his sheath. "It's like, surprisingly heavy."

Jaune gratefully accepted both hand and sheathe as the mech twisted, turning its huge bulk around to face them.

Jaune wistfully looked at Crocea Mors, still embedded on the mech's chest. A cheerful voice rung in his ear as he pondered on how to retrieve his blade.

"Jaune!" Kaz's voice had rung, "It's all ready! Just go deeper into the residences!"

 _About damn time_ , Jaune gave a vicious smile.

"It's coming," Miltia warned, giving the approaching mech a wary look, "Split up again?"

"No." Jaune remarked, voice stronger than he thought it would be, "We run in the same direction, but keep your distance. Be very, very careful where you step."

The mech had let out another roar, and fired at the three.

They dodged, but they needn't had bothered. Even if they stood still, most of the blasts would only barely graze them. With its eyes dead, its reactions were much more sluggish as compared to a couple minutes ago.

 _Hard to believe Atlas would design something with such an obvious weakness_ , Jaune thought as he broke into a run, _Unless this is a prototype or something._

While a human pilot at this time would no doubt be firing wildly to make up for the lack of accuracy, the machine had continued firing calmly, even as they harmlessly fired too low or too high.

 _It was an A.I._ , their chances of success were getting better and better.

Jaune and the Twins dashed through the empty streets, the titan in pursuit. Melanie and Miltia, despite both of them being much faster than he was, lagged behind him intentionally, ready to support him if need be.

"Sir, we see you." came Gaston's stoic voice. "We've trapped everything past this block. Be careful."

"Got it." Had Gaston not warned him, Jaune would've just run straight through. He narrowed his eyes ahead on the road. Now that he was actually looking for it, he could spot sacks laying around, wheelbarrows, crates, and other containers all seemed to be inconspicuously strewn about.

In the corner of his eyes, he could spot the dull glints of White Fang masks and rifles from holes in the buildings, all poised and ready to fire. It wasn't just the Fang though, Jaune could also see dimly glowing faunus eyes in the dark, watching them move.

It seemed the rest of the laborers wanted in on the party.

Turning back forward, Jaune could see it. The more he ran in this direction, the more and more containers they seemed to run past.

Just a little more on this road, and they'd reach an intersection.

Jaune had to hand it to Kaz and Gaston. With the wholehearted support from the locals, they'd been able to turn the whole place into a death trap surprisingly quickly.

Judging from the sheer volume of containers now stacked around, the plan was ready, and all they needed was to get out of the line of fire now.

"Split up!" cried Jaune right before they passed a crossroad.

Miltia dove left, Melanie ducked right, and Jaune sprinted forward.

For a brief moment, the mech had stopped, as if wondering which one to pursue.

A brief moment was all they needed.

Jaune could hear someone indistinctly scream "Now!"

Right as the mech slowed down, gunfire flared up from all around it, from the interiors of the damaged buildings, from the white-cloaked Fang soldiers camouflaged on the snow, from the marksmen on the rooftops, all around it.

The bullets flew, but not towards the mech.

The bullets struck the containers, and with a mighty explosion, set them and their ... _volatile_ contents alight.

Wait, no, not alight. That was steam and ice, but there was a lot of light.

Jaune risked a glance back as soon as he felt the cold air get even chillier.

The robot had walked right into a minefield, where the makeshift mines and bombs were filled with nothing but the purest, unrefined, undiluted ice dust.

Hell, and even the laborers began getting in on it, picking up slightly-fractured dust crystals and hurling them at the mech. Some even pushed barrels and tanks of ice dust from the roof to fall and explode on the robot directly below.

The robot was struggling, half its body was already frozen, and still the Fang kept firing and setting off more, and more, and more ice dust explosions around it.

Every time the mech broke the ice impeding it, it only did so to be frozen again.

Jaune gaped, they weren't doing that much damage to it.

 _We're only slowing it down,_ Jaune realized, _But why, and where's the stronger dust?_

Slowly, growing rumbling in the air answered Jaune's question, as White Fang bullheads dove from the sky.

Fang members nearby used red dust to blow up key supports of nearby buildings, causing them to fall on the mech with mighty crashes, and calling to fall back soon afterwards.

If those red-tinted "hazard" warnings on the _fucking tanks_ the bullheads were carrying were any indication, that's where all the missing dust was.

For a moment, Jaune thought he spotted Kaz, manic grin plastered on, face lit up with what could only be considered _very_ unhealthy enthusiasm.

As if they were bombs, _wait they are bombs_ , the dust was released, dropped directly on the mech as the bullheads passed it by.

Jaune could only stare as if the spectacle was in slow motion, with the same morbid, surprised, fascinated anticipation one might have staring at a train about to crash.

His last thoughts before it did was that there was enough dust in those to power Vale, the Kingdom, not just the city, for a week.

A magnificent maelstrom of fire, thunder and lightning erupted on the frozen mech, melting even dust-augmented alloy and sending electricity jolting across its limbs. The snow, and it looked like even the ground under it had melted into a sinkhole, and the sheer force of the explosion pushed buildings down and flung people like ragdolls.

Jaune was barely able to shield his eyes as he was flung back into a wall by the sheer force of the blast.

Falling on his back, he could only hope everyone got out of that safely.

Even as the explosion subsided, Jaune could still hear the sinister crackling of electricity and smell melting metal.

The static on his earpiece eventually subsided, and he could hear worried voices.

"Kshsssht...kshshsht"

"C'mon... open... eyes," one of the twins.

"Ksshrttt... Ja...ne... Jaune! Jaune! Get up!", came Kaz's frantic voice.

Groaning, Jaune opened his eyes, and his heart dropped.

Its torso looked like parts of it had been blown off, exposing a much-abused cockpit, moreover it looked like its own missiles had detonated inside of it. The outermost layers of its arms had melted, but it still retained its shape. The cannon on its left arm was ruined and looked like it had exploded from the inside out, but both cannons were still pointed directly at him.

It was still, somehow, combat ready.

The titan took one hesitant step, then another, then another, looking like a demon that had just crawled out of hell itself, until it was towering over its prone foe.

Hell, in some places, it was still inexplicably on fire.

Jaune's eyes widened with fear, it could still fight?!

Movements sped up with not just mere fear, but with terror, Jaune quickly unfolded his sheath into a shield and raised it up.

...

And... nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Jaune peeked from under his shield.

The thing had frozen there, like a statue, just looking at Jaune.

Jaune very hesitantly, stood up.

As Jaune rose to his full height, something in the machine had finally given out.

Jaune would later learn that those somethings were the mech's A.I., and long-range communications, allowing it to access and utilize combat data.

Almost solemnly, the Steel Titan fell to its knees before Jaune Arc.

Jaune blinked, if he jumped a little, he could take his sword.

Jumping on the now-still mech, he grasped the hilt with both hands, and pulled the blade out.

Only as he reclaimed his blade did he realize that a crowd had gathered around him.

To both his immediate left and right, it appeared everyone, members of the White Fang, laborer, and defecting guard alike was worried for him or wanted to ensure the mech truly was defeated, and as such gathered around.

As whispers and murmurs found their way around the crowd, Jaune realized they all had their eyes on him.

The cold wind stung his eyes, and – oh crap, his mask fell off when they dropped the bomb on the mech!

Some of the laborers began pointing at him nervously, and from the corner of his eye, he could see Kaz, Gaston, and other members of the White Fang attempt to placate the almost-panicking crowd.

Jaune steeled himself, and refused the urge to nervously shrink away.

They weren't out of the clear yet, and maintaining morale and order was paramount.

 _No fucking way had they gotten this far just to break because of something as trivial as not being born hot – wait_ , faunus _, he meant faunus._

Raising his sword in the air, Jaune bellowed out as loud as he could.

"VICTORY!"

* * *

Miltiades was cackling madly, "So, Jaune, how was your first time?"

After Jaune had bellowed "Victory" the nervous tension in the crowd gave way to enthusiastic cheering, and that was even before Kaz made a side comment that Adam Taurus apparently vouched for him. Even if he was a human, these faunus had Gaston Alabaster as an example that not all of them were assholes.

The faunus had been enslaved to mine dust, and now, they had used that same dust to obtain their freedom.

Had a nice ring to it.

Just remembering the crowd chant, "Jaune! Jaune! JAUNE!" never failed to bring a smile to his lips.

"Look, Miltia," pointed a mirthful Melanie, "He's smiling!"

 _Oh, right. Damn it._

"Aw, c'mon, throw me a fricking bone here, guys," Jaune groaned.

... _Wait a minute_ , realized Jaune...

"What's wrong?" Jaune could _feel_ the smirk on Melanie's face, "Didn't you get enough boning already from your boyfriend?"

Gah, he'd walked into that one.

After Kaz had somehow reorganized everyone back into lines, ready to board the airships, Jaune and the Twins had stayed with the perimeter guard.

The perimeter guard had been spread thin, primarily to spot and screen threats, then retreat to a bigger Fang reserve force.

They were very, nearly done. 80% of the laborers were already on the ships.

Almost there.

"They were boning so hard, the buildings shook." Miltia quipped.

"We could like, hear you moaning all the way over there." Melanie said singsong.

 _Argh._

"Coming out of the closet like, isn't so bad in this day and age." chuckled Miltia.

"Don't worry, Jaune. We'll support you no matter what you identify as." Melanie comforted.

"I'm straight!" Jaune nearly shouted.

"You sure?" Miltia asked, "Could've sworn you were checking out Kaz's ass."

"I like girls!"

"Tall, metal, and bulky are the types of girls you're like, into?"

"I like pretty girls!"

"The girls you like don't seem very pretty." Melanie commented.

Miltia pouted, "Does this mean you don't think we're pretty, Jaune?"

"What?! No, you're very pretty!" shouted Jaune.

 _Wait. What?_

"Interesting." Melanie leaned in closer to Jaune with half-lidded eyes. He could feel his cheeks heat up. "Are you saying I'm your type?"

"Nah, Melanie," Jaune could feel Miltia's warm breath on his ear. His cheeks flushed even further, "He's saying _I'm_ his type."

"Really?" Melanie leaned in even closer, and Jaune could see the light gloss of her lips, "What's your type then?"

Previous steely resolve forgotten, with a face as red as the hair of that girl on the cereal box, Jaune was a sputtering wreck.

"W-Well," Jaune tried to keep his voice steady, even as he could feel the twins inch ever closer, "I-I like girls with nice hair..."

"Like mine?" Melanie whispered, amusement glinting in her eyes.

"Y-yeah, nice and smooth."

Miltia pouted, and Jaune couldn't help but wonder how soft her lips looked, "You only like it long?"

"N-no, long or short is fine." Jaune quickly replied.

Jaune's ideal girl was... well if he were to describe it, he wanted a princess, or maybe an _angel._ Silky smooth hair, preferably blonde or white, with fair skin that looked oh so soft and tempting, and beautiful blue eyes that he could just stare at for hours.

Staring at the snowy horizon, Jaune could almost picture her. She would be a white figure, someone men would be absolutely willing to risk life and limb for. Someone whose cold gaze would kindle the fires in mens' hearts.

"Snow Angel..." Jaune whispered dreamily.

An image began to form. Standing tall, confident, the perfect picture of elegance. Dressed in all white, with immaculate white hair, and icy blue eyes, her clothes serving to outline her womanly figure, she would reach out and caress his face... and...

Winter Schnee struck his face with the hilt of her weapon.

No one had even seen her move. Such was the speed in her possession that only the shift in the wind betrayed her presence.

Twin sea green eyes widened as Jaune was just knocked back in their midst. Quick as lightning, Miltia brandished her claws, and Melanie had launched a kick aimed at their new foe's head.

CLANG!

Twin sea green eyes widened further.

On one hand, Miltia's claws were blocked by an elegant dagger, and on the other, Melanie's heel met the enemy's rapier.

In the next instant, their mysterious attacker had overpowered both twins.

Melanie's mouth went wide. Both she and Miltia had thrown their full weights behind those attacks, and this new enemy had overpowered them with merely her arms.

As both the twins skidded back, Jaune had gotten up and, with both hands and all he had, launched a wide, downward slash at probably the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

The white woman had effortlessly parried Crocea Mors away with one hand, and with the other, threw a punch, once again into his face.

"GAH!" Jaune was thrown back as his mask broke.

Within a span of a few seconds, she had beaten the three of them back.

The woman walked up to Jaune, and after a few seconds' consideration, made a light poke with her weapon.

Instincts kicked in, and Jaune immediately blocked the rapier's point with his shield.

Body on autopilot, Jaune made another strike with his sword, only for Crocea Mors' ancient metal to clash against his (beautiful) enemy's dagger.

Both Jaune and the woman remained in that position. His strength against hers – no, Jaune realized. This woman could likely overpower him without a second thought, so why –

Icy blue eyes met sky blue ones.

She was studying his features!

"So it's true," the woman spoke resignedly, "The Arcs truly have turned against us."

Jaune froze. He'd forgotten about the crest on his shield!

Immediately after she had spoken, the woman jumped back, evading a desperate stab from Miltia's claws.

"Tell me, traitor," she spoke, voice dripping with malice, "What _is_ Ozpin up to these days?"

...

 _What?_

"What do the Arcs want with _his_ research?" she tried again.

 _Research? What research?_

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jaune spoke, voice level.

"Oh?" she mocked, "Then am I to assume you're here _just_ to _liberate_ SDC employees?"

There was a beat before Jaune blurted out, "Actually, yes. That is why we're here."

Winter's eye twitched. _Was this little shit mocking her?_

"You expect me to believe," Winter spoke slowly, as if speaking to a small child, "That of all the labor camps the SDC possesses, you just randomly pick the one _he_ used as a personal facility?"

Jaune blinked, before responding with, "I guess."

This time Winter didn't bother repressing her anger. Her normally impassive face twisted, red with anger, her teeth clenched tightly against each other, and her hands began shaking in unsuppressed fury.

Jaune, oblivious to how Melanie and Miltia were very nervously backing off, simply told her, "You alright there? You're shaking a bit."

Winter ground her teeth, _did this boy just insinuate that she was weak? Oh, oho, she would show him weak._

Winter brought her sword's guard to her lips, "I was planning on simply capturing you to interrogate," then she swung her blade in a traditional fencer's salute, "But I realize that, out of respect for your family lineage, you'll likely survive the loss of a few limbs."

Jaune on the other hand, hadn't registered the threat. Inside, he was too busy giggling, pumping his fist into the air like he won the Vytal Tournament, and celebrating.

His enemy had saluted him!

Someone had finally acknowledged him!

His enemy, a bonafide huntress by the looks of it, acknowledged him as an equal!

Jaune paused.

Tradition dictated that he salute back, but he had never been inducted as any kind of swordsman, nor had he been formally trained in any kind of school.

 _Wait a minute!_ , Jaune realized, he did know some kind of salute. He _had_ been acknowledged before by another swordsman!

Back when he was traveling to Vale with Olivine Tiresias and the White Fang Lieutenant aptly named L.T., the good lieutenant had seen fit to teach him a true swordsman's salute.

Jaune sheathed his sword, much to the surprise of the rapier-wielding swordswoman.

Holding the sheathed Crocea Mors in front of him vertically, one hand held the sword up by the hilt.

The other hand grasped the sheathed blade, and stroked up.

And stroked down.

And stroked up.

And stroked down.

He could hear the twins gasp in astonishment and disbelief. They were probably impressed he knew such a prestigious salute.

Spurred on by the encouragement, he stroked stronger! Harder! Faster!

Everyone present swore they heard something snap.

Winter let out a deep sigh, and recalled _all_ the pent-up frustration and rage she'd slowly built up over all her years of life, sucking up to sleazy corporate assholes and dirty military douchebags alike.

She released it. She released it all.

She dashed, faster than the eye could see, and with a deafeningly loud strike, smashed the Arc's face with the hilt of her dagger to the cold, hard ground.

The Arc was flung back, and crashed into the corner of the street painfully.

Dashing faster than most men could perceive yet again, she stood victoriously over the Arc.

He had taken a bad hit, but his eyes were still open, he was still conscious!

 _Good_.

Planting a delicate foot on the Arc's face, Winter allowed herself a gleeful, slightly maniacal smile, as she lifted said delicate foot, and stomped the Arc asshole into the curb.

* * *

 **Chapter 7 End.**

 **OR IS IT?!**

* * *

Winter Schnee raised a puzzled eyebrow.

She had stomped the Arc traitor into the curb, true, but she hadn't meant to completely collapse the boy into the floor.

He had fallen through the floor, almost as if the space beneath the street floor was hollow, empty.

 _Huh._

Well, regardless, the traitor was out of commission for now, but the White Fang was still escaping with both the laborers and the research.

Winter's eyes narrowed. No matter what, she couldn't allow the Fang access to that research. If General Ironwood thought it was important, then for sure, allowing the Fang to have it would threaten the peace and security of the Kingdoms!

She regarded her two other opponents. One had elected to stay and try to hold her off, while the other had run back, likely intending to warn her allies.

She needed to stop those airships from leaving. She could always come back for the traitor _after_ she had secured the research and then beat off the Grimm assaulting her base.

* * *

Jaune Arc fell through the floor.

He yelped as he landed on a pile of something... _weird._

He looked up, the whole place was pitch black, with the exception of the hole he had fallen in from.

He tried moving, wading around whatever the hell he had landed in.

It felt both soft, like rubber, and hard, like metal. He really could feel the cold hardness of metal here, but the skin almost felt like it was meant to be warm. He could also feel wires as he wriggled around.

Jaune brought out his scroll, and activated its torch.

Jaune nearly screamed.

He was wading around in _limbs!_

Robot arms, legs, and hands! With wires in lieu of nerves, surrounded by what appeared to be flesh.

He – wait, was this real _skin_?! Against his better instincts, Jaune ran a hand through it.

It felt lifelike enough.

Jaune looked up to the walls, and he felt his breath hitch in his throat.

There, stored in what seemed to be broken pods, were _girls._

Robot girls, to be exact, long abandoned, and collecting dust, no, not that dust, the boring dust.

All their heads were exactly the same, of a pretty girl with short, curly hair and freckles on her face, illuminated eerily by the light of his scroll.

"What the fuck?!" Jaune yelped.

Jaune looked left and right, and all he could see were rows and rows of her. They all had the same vacant smile permanently plastered on their face, and were all either in various states of incompletion and disrepair.

One face he passed by didn't have eyes, the other, a lower jaw, and many more were lacking that synthetic flesh in various parts of their bodies.

 _I-I've got to look for a way out!_

Jaune couldn't afford to be stalled here. Kaz and Gaston and the Twins and everyone was in trouble!

Jaune flashed the torch around, left and right, in attempts to look for some way to escape.

Instead, he had illuminated something else.

There, by the very center of the large room, seemed to be another one of those synthetic girls.

This one was held up by wires like some sort of macabre display. She was but a torso, with no legs, and only one outstretched arm, some parts of it covered with flesh, and the others without.

Despite his misgivings, Jaune found himself steadily approach.

Unlike everything else, this one felt different.

 _Something_ felt... very, very weak, as if it were, well it _was_ incomplete.

Its face was slightly different too, as if it was trying to say something before it froze in that position.

Most striking however, was the outstretched hand, as if someone was helping it to get up after it had fallen down.

And...

And Jaune could feel his aura stretching, just like the time when he had replenished Miltia's aura back in the Club.

 _Get out,_ Jaune thought. _Wait, did he actually think that._

He focused on the thought, and the brief ... _weakness_ that he had felt from the unfinished robot girl seemed to sharpen.

It was as if... this machine actually had an aura, albeit one at the brink of emptiness.

Swallowing deeply, Jaune had a hunch of what was going to happen if he took that outstretched hand.

With a deep breath, Jaune took the hand.

He gasped, as soon as he had taken the half-flesh, half-metal hand in his, he could feel a full fourth of his aura travel through it, and go straight to the robot's outstretched arm and into her chest.

His hand was suddenly clasped in the literal iron grip on the robot, and the thing's eyes flashed a deep light green.

Jaune blinked.

So did the robot.

Speechless Jaune's sky blue eyes met the robot's light green orbs, mutual surprise coloring their features.

The robo – the torso, no wait, – the _girl's_ eyes looked at Jaune's face, and Jaune could see _her_ pupils dilate and contract as if they were tiny cameras taking mugshots.

Jaune's mouth went agape. _What the fuck?_

Torso-girl on the other hand was unperturbed, and she flashed a bright smile.

"Salutations! My name is Penny, it's a pleasure to meet you!"

From his peripheral vision, Jaune could spot the text "P.E.N.N.Y-0.05"

* * *

 **Chapter 7 Legit End.**

* * *

 **AN:** Ah, so that's done. Welp.


	9. Chapter 8: Guns of the Patriarch

**AN:** Thankfully I didn't drop the ball in the last chapter, here's hoping I don't do so here.

Also I've made a horrible, horrible mistake. I've rewatched RWBY Season 3, and _holy fuck._ Winter's not using a rapier, and a parrying dagger, but a saber with an even shorter saber. Damn it.

 **AN2:** Extremely sorry for the late update. I kinda went on a sudden vacation, and there was barely any time to get things done. Welp, if it's any consolation, this is the longest chapter yet. Please don't kill me.

... Vacation was great though.

 **AN3:** Also, now that my training period for my job is nearly over, I'm expecting a bigger, _actual_ workload now, so updating this fic may prove to grow more difficult for me. I will update this thing... eventually.

* * *

 **Arc of the Revolution**

 **Chapter 8: Dust Gear Arc 4**

 **Guns of the Patriarch**

* * *

 **Alternative Title: Who's Your Daddy**

* * *

She was my masterpiece, and while I tried, I couldn't repeat her creation. _Yet._

She was... she was _impossible_. She was an _anomaly._

Since humanity had gained the ability to manifest aura, we had all the proof we needed regarding the existence of the soul. The soul had gone from a mere philosophical or religious concept to the greatest and most controversial research topic in history.

Yet for all those studies and books written on it, we know nothing.

 _How_ do souls bring forth semblances? How does something that's not supposed to exist affect the physical world? If the semblance is the soul, why are some families' semblances hereditary? Is everyone's semblance different, or are there noticeable archetypes? Does a person's semblance change depending on who awakens his or her aura? Does a person's mindset at the time of awakening have an effect on his semblance?

Is the body naught but _**dust**_ , a vessel for the _**soul**_ to reside in?

If the soul is truly immortal, truly eternal, then, should the body be deathless, will humanity live forever?

Will humanity truly _transcend,_ going beyond _death?_

Even without that, the implications were staggering! Could a human's consciousness, a human's soul be transferred to another vessel? Could human consciousness one day interface with machine and network? We would no longer need food, or oxygen, and safer havens would be available to us away from the Grimm, and more!

Tried, I had. Every process, I repeated exactly, yet still nothing.

How can Penny live, while her many, many sisters couldn't?

How is a soul able to reside in vestiges of metal and wire, and for that matter, how does a soul manifest in a living being's flesh?

A semblance is defined as the state of being something, yet not fully the same thing.

If so, then aura-users call forth literal, incomplete manifestations of a larger whole of their aura, defined themselves as manifestations of the soul.

Through experimentation, I had learned that while Penny possesses aura, she does not seem to display a semblance. Her failed sisters possessed miniscule amounts of aura as well.

Human beings regain aura as their emotions, mood, and body condition improve, but how on earth would an artificial being that didn't naturally possess them naturally manifest an aura?

However, Penny, despite being a machine, constantly replenishes hers, just like a human being.

Could existence itself be a function of the soul, allowing something that couldn't possibly exist to exist?

Could Penny's semblance itself, be existence?

 **-A ripped off page from a journal found in Camp Omega**

* * *

I have two dads and I turned out fine!

 **-Penny Polendina, LGBTR (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transsexual, Robot) Rights Activist**

* * *

"Salutations! My name is Penny, it's a pleasure to meet you!"

Jaune blinked at the talking torso girl, suspended in mid-air, who still had his hand trapped in a vice-like grip.

"You already said that."

"So I did." Penny blinked back.

As Jaune calmed down from the initial panic of being ripped apart by potential zombie-robot girls, he began to study her features seriously for the first time.

In the dull light of his scroll's torch, the girl's curled hair shone silver-white, like an undyed wig. She had no legs attached to her body, and only one arm. The arm in question seemed to be, in one word, incomplete. Whoever built her had seemed to stop while they were layering on the synthetic flesh.

Thankfully, her face was completed though. If it wasn't...

 _That would've been freaky._

Jaune frowned. The face was completely lifelike. Had this mission never happened, and he met this robot girl in person, there was absolutely no way he would be able to identify that she wasn't a real girl.

 _What use would Atlas have for robots that could pass for humans?_

More pressing though, was the fact that OH MY GOD, _THIS ROBOT HAS AURA!_

 _What the hell did that even mean?!_

Jaune tried to recall everything he knew about aura.

 _It... It was like a force field?_ Jaune tried to recall his lessons harder, _E-everything with a soul has aura. It had been weaponized by humans and faunus, and the Grimm don't have them because they don't have souls!_

Did this mean, then, that the robot in front of him had a soul?

 _But... how?_ , Jaune had known that Atlas had been researching extensively into the nature of souls, aura, and dust. Hell, his own sisters Indigo and Viola were scientists working for Atlas, and their research was about checking whether or not different types of dust would channel aura belonging to people of different personality types better.

Meaning, either Atlas had somehow found a way to create robots that had souls and could generate their own aura, or...

Jaune's eyes widened.

 _Or Atlas had found some way to transfer, or replicate souls, and place them in a different body, like a robot's?_

That... felt wrong somehow.

How did they make Penny anyway?

"Facial features recorded." Penny's muttering voice shocked Jaune out of his reverie, "Matches found for facial features, body structure, and voice."

"What?" Jaune deadpanned.

"I profiled you so I could get to know you better!" Penny pointed her sole index finger at Jaune, "You are an attractive human girl!"

"What."

Penny blinked again, processing the thousands upon thousands of units of data swirling about her head, until she finally spoke again.

"Are you my mommy?"

"What?!"

Penny's eyes widened, eyebrows furrowing both in confusion and almost desperate hope as she turned her gaze to Jaune's hand in hers, "I've never had a mommy."

"Wh-I'm not your mommy!" sputtered Jaune, trying to pry her hand off.

"But isn't the first woman someone sees usually his or her mommy?" Penny raised an eyebrow.

"I'm a guy!" Jaune squeaked.

"I was not aware that men could be mommies," Penny asked, a whole new, wondrous world opening up to her eyes.

"No!" Jaune cried, "I'm not your mommy!"

Jaune saw the robot's eyes widen dramatically, and the hand clenching his had fallen off like a dead fish.

She looked heartbroken, like someone had shot her puppy and was taking bites out of it in front of her.

"Y-you...", Jaune had never thought he'd see a robot stutter, "You don't want to be my mommy? I-I'm sorry to have presumed, I –"

Jaune grasped her remaining hand, cutting her off.

Adopting the kindest, gentlest, most understanding mom – no, goddammit, _dad_ voice he knew, Jaune interrupted, "Penny, I think we went a little too fast there."

Speaking _extremely_ carefully, "My name is Jaune Arc, and while I'm sad I can't be your mommy" _not true, that was a complete lie, he'd seen videos of his mom when she was pregnant_ , "I'd be honored to be someone else for you." he finished.

Penny blinked again, "Papa Jaune?"

Jaune smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. "Your _friend_ , Penny."

He would've sworn he heard something crack.

"F-friend?", Penny whispered, her light green eyes glowing so dangerously bright they were setting off alarm bells in Jaune's mind. Her head tilted at a disconcerting – no, fuck that, _disturbing_ angle that gave Jaune flashbacks of pale, white-glowing ghosts with broken necks and terrifying smiles.

Jaune almost wished he was back there with Snow Angel.

"Jaune, am I really your friend?", the unholy abomination whispered, her hand once again painfully tightening around his. A little more pressure, and his carpals would either break or dislocate.

Shit, he needed that hand to wield his sword. His _real_ sword, not the... uh, other one.

 _C'mon Jaune,_ urged Jaune to his brain, _Remember all the speaking lessons Sapphire and Rouge and everyone taught us. It'll take all our cunning, wordsmithing and eloquence to talk our way out of this one._

"Uhh, yeah, right?" Jaune was at his most diplomatic, "S-strangers are just friends you haven't met yet!"

The hand clenching his had tightened further; Jaune felt one of his bones crack. He didn't even know that bone could crack.

Penny's face was still facing downwards, yet looked up with eyes that glowed eerily past her pale hair.

Jaune blinked, his aura was linked with hers through their hands, and he could feel to some extent what she was feeling. From the sadness she had at the perceived rejection by her "mommy", to the hope she had when Jaune had interjected, but now...

 _Jaune could feel the start of a boner build up_. What the fuck? These emotions, this elation and joy weren't his, and he was definitely _not_ aroused, so were they...?

"Do you mean," Penny twitched erratically, manic smile twisting across her facsimile of a face, "That I have more _friends_ I haven't met yet?"

"Umm... yes?" Jaune squeaked.

Penny suddenly jerked her head back up, grinning from ear to ear like a deranged homicidal maniac or maybe a demon pug from the thirteenth kalpa of hell. The eldritch green glow of her eyes filled the limb-riddled room with menacing shadows. Some of those shadows _moved._

Jaune trembled in fear.

" _ **Sensational."**_ Penny purred.

* * *

"Come on, Friend Jaune!", Penny shouted from atop his back, "You can do it!"

Despite the horror he felt earlier, the corners of Jaune's mouth twitched in annoyance as he walked through the dark hallways, scroll lighting the path. He guessed, or maybe hoped that she was just really lonely having been cooped up in here for so long.

Either that or the boredom caused her to snap like a twig.

Despite his reservations, he just couldn't leave a girl suspended mid-air in an abandoned room located in one of Remnant's worst shitholes, so he took her with him. Then, his problem was carrying her, as, Penny literally only had a quarter of her limbs attached to her.

Said problem was rectified when he noticed these super-strong looking wires coming from some hole on her back, and after a bit of improvisation, he was able to fashion them into straps. He hoped she wouldn't be offended if he used her as a backpack, and stuffed her under his cloak. Luckily, it appeared the very idea of being worn like an inanimate object seemed to brighten up her day further. She looked like Christmas, her birthday and her worst enemy's death anniversary had come early this year.

He _had_ heard her whisper, "Now, we'll be even closer, _frieeeehnd."_ , though, but that could've just been the wind.

 _Sweet Julius Arc_ , Jaune fervently _hoped_ it was the wind.

He searched around the room they were in, and he finally found an exit, but whatever bearings or sense of direction Jaune had were thrown to the wind when he entered this labyrinth of an underground research complex.

 _Dammit,_ cursed Jaune in his head. He was supposed to be with his friends; with Kaz, Gaston, and the Twins, fending off Snow Angel up there. The white woman was strong enough to undo everything they had done.

He couldn't find any decent landmarks in this place. Each room was just filled with abandoned dust-covered computers and cobwebs. He'd taken to using his sword to mark X's on walls he'd already passed by, and still, he somehow found himself moving in circles.

"...and we can try on clothes, and we can talk about cute...", Penny's voice came yapping behind his back.

To top it all off, he was trapped in here with someone who really couldn't tell the mood, nor could tell when to shut up. Jaune rolled his eyes, not like she could see them anyway.

 _Calm down, dammit_.

"Friend Jaune?" Penny queried from behind, tapping his back with her sole limb.

"Yeah?" Jaune flashed his scroll onward, illuminating the dark, nondescript halls.

"Why are you so desperate to get back to the surface?" she asked, tone innocent.

Oh right, he hadn't told her.

"Some... _friends_ of mine were held in this camp against their will," spoke Jaune as Penny gasped, "So me and some other friends went here to bust them out."

"You came here to rescue your friends!" Penny spoke, awe in her voice.

Jaune chuckled bitterly, "Yeah, but now they're in trouble and here I am, lost in some maze in the ground."

Penny grew silent underneath his cloak. Jaune winced, and he was about to apologize until she spoke.

"I think..." Penny said, voice unsure, pointing at an old computer terminal, "I have an idea on how to get us out of here."

Figuring any hope was better than none, Jaune approached the terminal, "What is it, Penny?"

Penny's voice lit up, "Do you think you could power these computers like you powered me, Friend Jaune?"

Jaune's eyes brightened. This was an extremely large complex, and the terminal Penny had pointed out looked similar to the map terminals used in shopping malls, large parks and resorts. Even if they weren't, it wasn't unlikely that the thing would have a map.

"I don't know, Penny." Jaune placed a hand on the weathered, dusty machine, "But, I'm gonna try!"

Jaune called down to the depths of his soul, and his aura answered. Jaune could hear Penny gasp as his form glowed a brilliant white, like a candle burning solemnly in the darkness. Jaune focused his aura on his arm, allowing it to flow through the appendage like a bridge or aqueduct; pouring his soul into the machine.

...

Nothing.

Jaune suppressed a cry of frustration. He needed to get back up there _now._

"I don't understand," Penny began muttering, "How come it worked for me, I-I'm a machine, a synthetic person, so h –"

Jaune furrowed his brows. Penny was able to generate aura, she just needed a little push. Jaune just provided the metaphorical spark to light the fire.

He glanced at the stump where her left arm should be. Even from there, he could spot several wires and cords infused, or carefully made from dust.

Dust and Aura were closely related, this Jaune knew. Dust conducted the flow of aura extremely well as compared to other materials. Huntsmen often used dust to augment their semblances with different effects. A clone-producing semblance, augmented with red fire dust would likely result in clones capable of exploding, for example.

He could feel how Penny's body worked. After she'd drained him of a full fourth of his total aura reserves, her aura had begun flowing through her body as a normal person's would – _Wait, no_ , _that wasn't quite it._

Her aura was flowing through her body like the way aura flowed from a Huntsman to his weapon.

It was as if Penny's body itself was a huntsman's weapon.

Jaune's eyes widened.

Huntsmen often injected dust vials or cartridges into their weapons, weapons specially forged to be conduits for their aura, to enhance the capabilities of their semblances, which themselves were expressions of their aura.

Weapons, _machines_ , were the link between the aura of a huntsman's soul, and dust. Together, that trinity would be able to express themselves in the form of a semblance. Weapons were the bridge that allowed dust, something physical, to affect the soul, and thus the semblance.

Could it work the other way around, too?

Could weapons, proper channels and conduits, also allow the soul to affect the material as well?

Jaune looked to Crocea Mors. The old blade was sharp, of course, but augmented with his aura, became even stronger and sharper still. If he jammed it into the terminal, could he channel his aura through and power the machine?

 _No_ , Jaune decided, it would be too risky. Jamming a sword into a computer was not an effective way of preserving data nor functionality.

On the other hand...

"Friend Jaune, why are you looking at me like that? Friend Jaune? Jaune, please stop, you're scaring me..."

Penny's body itself _was_ a weapon. Her aura flowed from the center of her body, from some sort of _heart_. From the heart, it went to... well, the rest of her torso and her arm and her head, through the dust wiring that served as her nerves.

Jaune blinked, it could be that his eyes were fooling him, but he thought he had just seen a flicker of aura flow through the wires he had been using as straps for his (Penny-Backpack?) his Pennypack.

Could Penny convert aura directly into energy?

"Penny, this is important." Jaune unstrapped the befuddled Penny from his back, and looked her eye to eye, "Can you move your wires coming from your back?"

"Uh huh," a wide-eyed Penny had nodded, wiggling her wires like they were jointless fingers or very-thin tentacles, "But I don't see how..."

Jaune held Penny up to the computer terminal like a human shield, "Can you jam your wires in the terminal's power cord? Please try!"

Penny blinked, but complied. Her wires slithered around the wire almost merging with it.

As soon as she had done that, Penny gasped, her aura levels began draining rapidly, and the terminal screen began flickering to life. Right before her aura had hit the yellow, Jaune laid his hands on her shoulders and topped her up back to full.

"I-I'm powering the computer?" asked Penny weakly.

"Yes, you are, Penny!" exulted Jaune as he began to move a finger to touch the terminal's welcome screen, "Oh, thank you so much! We'll be able to get out now!"

Jaune's finger was about to touch the screen when it suddenly flickered, then displayed a map of the complex.

"What?" Jaune hadn't even touched it. He looked back to Penny and realized that... she was asleep.

He looked back at the map, and gasped.

By the corners of the facility map, words were appearing, reading, "FRIEND JAUNE. I CAN CONTROL THE COMPUTER FROM THE INSIDE."

Jaune blinked yet again, before opening the computer's keyboard and typing in, "Penny?"

Was it truly possible for a human soul, a human, or in this case robot consciousness to interface with a computer?

 _Aura be hax, yo,_ concluded Jaune.

"HA. HA. HA. FRIEND JAUNE, I CAN STILL HEAR FROM MY EARS, YOU KNOW," came the written response. As soon as Jaune read that, one small sector in the map discolored, becoming a bright red.

"THIS IS OUR LOCATION.", came the bright red text of Penny's response. Jaune's eyes remained trained on the screen even as he muttered his acknowledgments.

A green the color of Penny's eyes lit up at the red square symbolizing their whereabouts and changed its shape into that of an arrow. The arrow extended, its tip passing by several rooms and corridors before stopping.

The arrow had stopped exactly at an exit labeled "West Quadrant, Miner Housing".

"QUICKEST WAY TO NEAREST EXIT." came Penny's reply, in the same green text this time. Jaune quickly brought out his scroll's camera and snapped a shot of it.

"Great job, Penny!" Jaune pumped a fist into the air, "Now disconnect from the terminal, and let's get going!"

There was a beat, before text once more reappeared onscreen, "DO I HAVE TO?"

 _She's just new_ , reminded Jaune to himself, "Yes, Penny. My friends are still in danger, we need to get going. Please!"

A short moment passed before Penny's eyes opened slowly. For a brief moment there, Jaune could see a crestfallen expression on her face before she masked it with a bright smile.

"Friend Jaune," she lifted her only arm up, like a puppy, or perhaps a small child asking to be carried, "We still need to get to your friends, right?"

Something was obviously wrong, Jaune's eyes narrowed, but he put it at the back of his mind.

He had more pressing matters to attend to.

Namely, how the fuck they were going to beat Snow Angel up there.

Jaune ground his teeth. He would need a lot more firepower to best her. He also needed some kind of counter to her crazy speed, and preferably, some sort of position that could exploit the limitations of her weapon. Hell, while he was at it, he may as well wish for something that could improve his durability.

But Jaune didn't have any ranged options, nor could he move that fast. He had some armor, but against someone as skilled as her, who could stab him in the unarmored gaps, it was just dead weight.

Jaune needed something fast, something with a lot of firepower, and something that could increase his durability and staying power. Above all, he needed something completely _fucking_ unexpected. Something that would shock her. Something she would never absolutely see coming.

Where would they find... something... like... _LIKE THAT!_

Jaune's eyes lit up, and he flashed a predatory grin not at all dissimilar from a shark's fang-bared mouth.

Penny just blinked and grinned back, waving her sole arm at him.

 _Kaz, Melanie, Miltia, Gaston, everyone, wait for me!_ , Jaune slung Penny to his back and sprinted through the dark corridors, the torso girl bouncing like a ragdoll at his back, _I'm coming!_

* * *

Winter Schnee's icy blue eyes darted left and right, peering into the deserted interiors of the hovels that had served as homes for her company's laborers.

She raised an elegant eyebrow. Her quarry, one of the twins, by the look of them, while even weaker than her sister, was at least marginally cleverer.

She paused for a brief moment, and well-honed reflexes alerted her to the red dust crystal flying straight for her face.

She simply turned her head, dodging it cleanly.

The crystal went flying straight and true, and detonated harmlessly – _wait, what was that sound?_

She looked back, and realized what exactly those elusive sisters were aiming for.

She wasn't the target for the thrown dust crystal, the actual target was the small cache of red dust at the foot of a nearby building. The small crystal had exploded and set said cache off, knocking out one of the structure's key supports and sending the hovel crashing down upon her.

Winter sighed and merely stepped away as, with a resounding crash, the ruins fell harmlessly upon the ground.

There was a lot of dust buried and hidden around in this part of the residential area. That must've been how this rabble managed to defeat the Paladin Prototype she had sent after them.

Indeed, as she had entered the narrow roads of the residences, she had spotted the burned out frame of the Paladin kneeling prone in a clearing. It was damaged, yes, but still possibly salvageable. A quick inspection told her that it was defeated not because it was unable to fight, but because the long-range communications that fed the mech's AI was destroyed.

These sisters weren't bad, Winter had acknowledged. Such situational awareness and resourcefulness would've found them places in an entry level combat school. Perhaps, after these twins were captured and incarcerated, they might be willing to view schooling and service at Atlas' Academy as a good alternative to the death penalty.

As for the Arc? _Oh, was she looking forward to interrogating him._

As quick as lightning, Winter thrust her saber at a seemingly random wall. The blade's fine tip had pierced straight through the subpar building material; the sound of a pained gasp from the other side telling her that cold steel had found purchase in warm flesh.

Pulling the blade back, with similar speed as her stab, Winter had broken through the wall with a single strike, sending gray bricks and dust flying into the air.

Her icy blue eyes surveyed the ruined room. The twin she was chasing, the one with shorter hair, had already managed to escape.

She had only grazed her, by the look of the blood on her weapon. She clicked her tongue in disappointment. She was out of practice, it seemed.

Winter shrugged. It was a good thing that she was in an extremely target-rich environment then. Plenty of dummies to practice with. She simply needed to force the location of their main force out of the girl.

Alone, away from the prying eyes of her men and her beloved sister, she made no effort to conceal the growing smirk twisting on her lips.

 _Shit, shit, shit!_ , Miltiades Malachite tore deeper and deeper into the mazelike buildings, one hand clasped on her arm, applying pressure against the deep wound.

When Jaune had fallen into some hole in the ground, the twins had split up, electing to use one of their favorite strategies, a little something they liked to call bait and switch.

Melanie, having better reach than Miltia due to her choice of weapons, and thus, better chances of holding off any pursuing opponent as compared to her, would stay behind. Miltia, in contrast, would go forward, looking for some place she could use for an ambush, also making sure to subtly leave a trail of clawmarks for her sister to follow.

Usually, when they were fending off superior local criminals or Junior's enemies, they'd use this. Melanie would be at Miltia's tail right after doing as much damage as she could, leading their enemies through narrow alleyways, and blind corners. This would allow them to either lose their enemies, or at least isolate the quicker ones and the slower ones from each other. By then, the twins would be able to pick them off at their leisure, or force fights way favorable to them.

It didn't work against this one. For starters, Melanie didn't follow after her. Wasn't able to, it had seemed.

From there, Miltia reckoned she had two options. One was to retreat back to Kaz, and lead her right to their main force, or to hopefully try to lose her in the ruins where they defeated the huge-ass mech.

In the end, she had chosen the latter, figuring the leftover dust traps they had set up would have a better chance at beating the _White Bitch_ than a thinly spread White Fang group.

Miltia had briefly contemplated surrender, before banishing the idea from her mind. She and her sister had attacked Atlesian Military Personnel, supported a terrorist group, and blew up enough dust to power Vale for weeks. She didn't know the specific penalties for her actions, but she was pretty sure she didn't feel like finding out.

Miltia had risked a glance behind her shoulder. This _Schnee_ , for who else could it have been, was fast, faster than anyone she'd ever seen, and was as quiet as the wind.

There was no one, nothing, just pure, comforting darkness. Miltia let herself breathe out a sigh of relief when –

"Looking for someone?" a commanding voice spoke from right in front of her. Miltia had only barely raised her claws before the Schnee's blade struck her guard.

The Schnee refused to let up, producing a shorter blade from who knows where, and chained strike by strike on Miltia's form.

Sparks flew as silver blades clashed with blood-red claws, momentarily illuminating the darkness as Miltia desperately parried and blocked the Schnee's relentless slashes and thrusts.

In one clash, the faces of both girls lit by the bright sparks; Miltia swore she saw the Schnee look almost amused.

 _Fuck, was she going to lose like this?_ , Miltia's panicked thoughts had screamed, losing without even wiping that smug expression off the Schnee's face, let alone landing a single blow?

The tempo of metal meeting metal intensified. The bleeding from Miltia's wound was sapping what remained of her strength. Miltia slowed, and as she grew ever slower, the Schnee seemed to be going even faster. Cuts and glancing slashes began finding their ways through her guard, and she could feel herself lose chunks and chunks of her aura piecemeal.

She was giving her all, and the Schnee still looked so _fucking amused, so FUCKING SMUG!_

 _She probably never knew what it felt like to go hungry. To trade away food and warmth for just a few more minutes of life. To see the people you loved slowly waste away, thinner with every passing day, every passing HOUR. To see the light in their eyes dim until –_

Effortlessly, Winter Schnee simply jammed her shorter blade in between the gaps of both Miltia's claws, locking both of them in place for a short, but vital moment. The girl's eyes widened, try as she might, she couldn't move either claw, nor disengage in time.

As cold as the ice she wielded, Winter struck the girl with the flat of her blade.

The girl was flung through solid brick with almost impossible force.

Miltia crashed through the wall, and fell several floors down, very near the clearing where the Atlesian Paladin knelt motionless.

Winter regarded the sight. Whatever aura the girl had left, well, it was gone now, shielding her from the worst of the fall. Judging from the way the girl groaned, and tried to crawl away, it appeared her aura did not prove sufficient to keep her unscathed, however.

Almost lazily, Winter Schnee leaped down from the ruined building.

The girl's movements became even more desperate as she tried to drag herself further away from her, leaving an unsightly red, bloody trail marring the pristine snow.

Winter sighed, _a mere exercise in futility._ She made to approach until a white figure in the left caught her eye.

"Get away from her!" shouted the long-haired twin. The White Fang uniform she was wearing was ripped in various areas, but unlike her sister, this one still had enough fight to adopt a fighting stance.

Well, a shaky, pathetic one, but a fighting stance nonetheless.

Winter regarded the newcomer. She was certain she had knocked this one unconscious. Indeed, Winter could still spot the discolored bruise on the long-haired girl's head, right where she had struck her moments ago.

"Melanie!" the one crawling on the ground cried out, "Run away! We can't beat her!"

'Melanie' didn't budge, settling instead for glaring at Winter with all she had.

 _Pitiful_ , Winter sighed, _Admirable, but pitiful._

The battle started in an instant and ended in an instant.

Melanie Malachite moved as quickly as she could, weaving unpredictably and getting within range for a kick aimed at the Schnee's neck. _Should it land, no doubt her heel would tear the Schnee's delicate neck wide open._

Winter Schnee reacted accordingly, off blade ready to parry her incoming heel, and sword poised to deal a devastating counterattack, a finishing blow. _What a shame, she would've preferred to take them alive._

To Miltiades Malachite, it was happening as if it were in slow-motion, she could see her sister's desperate attack. She could see how the Schnee would defend against it and unleash a powerful slash at her sister. _She opened her mouth to warn Mela –_

Before any Melanie's kicks nor Winter's slashes could land, before Miltiades could even scream, a deafeningly-loud crash, not unlike a thunderclap, resounded from the far end of the clearing.

The sound had stopped the three as if they were frozen. Miltia's mouth was still opened wide. Melanie still had her right leg lifted into air. Winter still had her weapons poised to defend and counterattack.

Two sets of sea-green eyes and one set of icy blue orbs widened as the mech, the Atlesian Paladin, had slowly placed a hand on the ground and pushed itself up from its knees.

Standing at its full height, the Paladin had towered over them. Looking down at them as if it were a haughty god, the Titan had cast a dark shadow over the three as its mighty frame eclipsed the moon and the stars.

As Winter lowered her weapons, and Melanie had used the distraction to get to her sister; the titan mech had turned around to face them.

The armor on the mech's torso had been blown off cleanly by the dust explosions a while ago, allowing the three to get a good look at who was piloting the mech. Hearts pounding in anticipation, the three women peered in, almost afraid of what they were going to find.

Golden blonde hair, reminiscent of the sunrise, of resurging hope.

Eyes as blue and tranquil and bright as peaceful clear skies.

White cloak billowing heroically in the wind, and gleaming white armor.

Jaune Arc, White Fang Raid Leader and Hero Wannabe, smug, shit-eating grin set on his face, lounged triumphantly on the Paladin's cockpit as if it were some sort of throne; moonlight shining on him as if it were a theater spotlight.

Their reactions were somewhat varied.

Melanie simply had her mouth wide open.

Miltia was mouthing either the words "what the fuck" or "suck a duck" repeatedly.

Winter Schnee, on the other hand, at first she was shocked, then, well...

For the first time Winter could remember, her face had flushed crimson red, and normally unseen and unused veins and stress lines began appearing all at once. The hands holding her weapons began shaking, and her teeth began gnashing together.

Not only did this _dirty traitor_ insult, mock, and... _and proposition_ her, but now he didn't even have the decency to _stay the hell down_ like the dead meat he was, and now he _dared_ lay his filthy, grubby hands on the glorious piece of technology the Great General Ironwood himself had entrusted and bequeathed to her?!

As if on cue, the Arc had leaned back on his seat and put his feet up on the controls.

 _How the hell did he even learn to pilot it anyway?!_

All in all, she looked like a devil fresh out from the deepest, darkest bowels of whatever passed for Hell on Remnant. Her eyes burned cold fury, bearing promises to all who would listen that she would paint her house red with that Arc's entrails.

Winter Schnee _was complete_ _ **ly, motherfuckingly, utterly, RIPSHIT PISSED.**_

Oblivious to the myriad emotions racing in the hearts of the beautiful young maidens below, high above, resting comfortably on the cockpit's seat, Jaune looked down on Beautiful Snow Angel over there.

Said Snow Angel looked like she was about to have a seizure.

Completely ignorant of this, Jaune reached over for the mech's microphone.

"Hey there, Snow Angel," Jaune smiled in what he thought was a suave manner, winking, making finger guns, and blowing kisses at the white-haired beauty, _"I always knew I'd take your breath away."_

* * *

"Friend Jaune? Jaune?" Penny whispered from under the controls, directly in between his legs. Her wires and cords had long integrated themselves in every important function in the mech, which Jaune now knew was called a Paladin. The exit they had taken out of that secret underground lab led them directly to it, and after a while, Penny had managed to get used to the system.

It amazed him that Penny could essentially function as the machine's brain; controlling the Paladin like it was another pair of legs and arms.

He was worried that powering the Paladin would take too much of his and Penny's aura, however, unlike the computer terminals awhile ago, the Paladin had its own energy sources, and so Penny only served as a control unit, and not a battery.

His problem then became finding where Snow Angel was, but Miltia falling out of a building with the white beauty resolved that one.

"Yes, Penny?" Jaune whispered back, taking great care to ensure that the mic was turned off. While his smile exuded more confidence than he felt, the jubilation in it was genuine. He was back in the fight, and now he had a superweapon in the form of his new friend.

"The one in white, her name is Winter Schnee," Penny hesitantly remarked, "She's the commander of this labor camp, or so the Paladin says. Are-are you enemies of Atlas?"

Hmm, so it appeared that even without access online, she has some understanding of the Kingdoms, Jaune mused.

"For now? I guess," Jaune closed his eyes solemnly, "Do you trust me, Penny?"

Jaune could feel Penny squirm around in between his calves, "I- Yes, I do, friend, but..."

"Then please," Jaune made use of the most comforting tones he knew, "I promise to explain everything when we're safe, but for now, I need your help."

Penny stopped moving, "Do you promise, Friend Jaune?"

He smiled again, "Arcs never go back on their word."

The Penny-Paladin, nominally dubbed Pennydin, shifted. Its left cannon had been ruined by the dust the White Fang had bombed it with, but its right cannon was still capable of firing. Overall, with the exception of the cockpit, the majority of the missiles on the Paladin's back, and the broken cannon, the machine had only received superficial damage.

Say what you want about Atlas, but they make really good stuff.

"I trust you, friend," whispered Penny, "I'll fight with you."

Jaune nodded, and turned back to his enemy.

Winter Schnee seemed to calm down, glaring defiantly at him, though the effect was mitigated by the fact that she looked tiny from where Jaune was sitting. Out from the corner of his eye, he could see that the Melanie had already taken the opportunity to drag her sister out of combat.

 _Good,_ thought Jaune. Had Winter held them hostage, no doubt he would cave in to her demands.

Jaune took a deep breath, and moved his hands to the Paladin's controls. He had no illusions that he actually knew anything of piloting giant robots, but apparently his enemy thought he could; well, Jaune was happy to oblige.

There was probably no way he could beat her in a fair fight, so Jaune wasn't planning to. Right underneath his hands, Crocea Mors: both sword and shield were propped up and ready to be used.

His enemy still had her amazing speed going for her, but she was left with but three options, three avenues of attack.

A. She jumps up or climbs the Paladin's 20 foot frame to strike at him, in which case, he has his back to a literal wall of steel, while she has but one direction to attack from. He merely needs to block and strike from only one front, and her prodigious speed becomes worthless.

B. She remains on the outside, trying to deal damage to the Paladin with her blades. Good luck with that. He had no doubt she eventually would do substantial damage, but that was the thing, _eventually was a very vague word._

C. Probably his best case scenario. She focuses on dealing damage to him and the Paladin at range. Hopefully the Paladin's armor, speed, and remaining guns and artillery were enough to outclass her there.

From his lofty perch, Jaune could spot Winter's icy blue eyes study the Paladin's structure. This was it.

Jaune's eyes narrowed. He didn't need to beat her; to win, he simply needed to hold her off. He held all the cards.

A brilliant white circle, reminiscent of a snowflake, shone behind Winter Schnee.

 _A glyph_ , Jaune realized, as his hands slowly inched towards his weapons.

The glyph spun eerily behind Winter Schnee, distorting the very fabric of space and time, charging her powerful and toned muscles with strength beyond the limits of mortal men.

Jaune Arc's calloused hands grasped his ever-reliable weapons tightly, praying to whatever higher power there was, that unbreakable steel and indefatigable purpose would be enough to overturn his implacable foe.

All was silent in the night, save for the humming of the glyph and the rumbling of the Paladin. Even the normally boisterous Malachite Twins remained deathly silent as they waited for the carnage to begin.

The Schnee Heiress's icy blue eyes eventually met the Arc Scion's sky blue, and by some unspoken agreement, they had begun.

With a burst of light and a powerful battle cry, Winter Schnee launched off her glyph at speeds most huntsmen would never even dream or hope of matching; her saber's tip glinting, _hungering_ for the traitor Arc's neck.

She shot through the air like a bullet; wind, sound, and space itself parting, _breaking_ to give her passage. She tensed, anticipating the feeling of her blade piercing soft flesh and –

CLANG!

Only to meet the ancient white metal and golden twin crescent moons of Jaune Arc's shield.

The momentum of the strike forced her blade forward, and it was redirected sidewards by the angled shield. The blade had harmlessly scratched the cockpit's walls.

He was lucky, Jaune realized. His shield was already halfway in position when Winter charged forward. Had his block been milliseconds too late, she would've ripped his neck open with that attack.

From the way her eyes widened, the Schnee didn't expect her stab to be rebuffed, leaving her awkwardly, and precariously balanced on the edges of the Paladin's cockpit, a sitting duck!

Before Winter could react or process the situation, Jaune Arc poured all the aura and weight he could spare in a powerful sweeping strike, a wide horizontal slash, from left to right.

At this close range, and with her bad footing, she couldn't move, and he couldn't miss. This was his best range, where brute force and steely durability trumped blinding speed and superior technique.

 _CLANG!_

With an earthshaking clang, Jaune Arc's sword crashed against Winter's hastily-readied offhand blade.

Unlike before, this time the strike had forced Winter back, one of her feet slipping off the narrow edge, forcing her to stand on her literal last leg.

Jaune had no intentions of letting her recover. As Winter had struggled to regain balance, Jaune let loose a powerful backhand from his shield, another horizontal strike, but this time sweeping from the opposite direction.

Had they actually been fighting on solid ground, Jaune had no doubt his blows would barely faze her; but balanced on one leg, on a moving robot?

This time, Jaune's blow found its mark, the blunt strike landing cleanly on her temple and flinging her off the titanic mech.

This was probably the only time Jaune was gonna get lucky tonight.

One of the rules his family's harsh training had literally beaten into him was that if you ever got your enemy dazed and reeling, you _fucking continued hitting,_ never letting go until he stopped moving. Claim the momentum, and never let it go; always keep your enemy on the defensive, unable to ever strike back.

Jaune was facing an opponent that could wipe the floor with him effortlessly, with both her hands tied behind her back, and he knew it.

He was facing a _Huntress_.

 _Holy shit_.

"Penny!" Jaune whispered harshly, and the Paladin moved to comply, throwing a literal iron fist at where Winter was falling helplessly.

Jaune had reservations that maybe Penny needed more time to get used to a brand new set of limbs, but apparently, such fears were unfounded. He watched as the mighty fist shot towards the falling white figure and –

Jaune's eyes widened. Winter had somehow performed a flip midair, and with a brief flash of light, she had _kicked off thin air_ to evade the punch, the Paladin's fist striking the snow covered ground.

"Don't let up, Penny!" Jaune urged; the Paladin's gun hatches opened, revealing a significant amount of missiles ready to fire, untouched by even the explosions they sent at it a while ago.

The missiles were launched in waves of three, all homing in on the Schnee Huntress with more than enough speed to overtake even her.

This time, Jaune's eyes narrowed. There it was again! Right before the missiles hit her, she had summoned some kind of light, _some kind of glyph_ that pushed her off into a different direction. By the time the missiles had hit and detonated uselessly, Winter Schnee was already zooming off.

 _She can change her momentum midair?!_ , Jaune gaped, if so... then...

"Cover her surroundings in flame!", this time, the Paladin opened _all_ its hatches, firing intervals of dustfire over a wide spread intended to achieve area of effect rather than focused fire around the Schnee.

The explosions sounded like a frenzied drumline, or a fierce thunderstorm, bathing the snowfields in fire.

He could see Winter grit her teeth as she was forced to expend glyph after glyph after glyph, zipping to and fro the snowfields, dodging blast after blast. She dodged when she could, but she couldn't evade them all with or without her glyphs.

Jaune felt his spirits soar. While not as much as scoring a direct hit, surely glyphs of that quality cost some significant amount of aura to make. If he and Penny could to keep this up, they could drain her dry without either of them getting hurt.

Missile after missile battered the earth and snow, giving rise to smoke and steam, the only indication of the Schnee's location being the way the smog blew. Apparently, Penny herself had become impatient, and had added bursts from the Paladin's remaining energy cannon to the deadly mix.

Jaune breathed deeply of the cold night air, savoring the smell of ozone, steam, and dirty smoke like it was a drug. The thunderous blasts from the Paladin's exploding missiles almost echoing the hammering of his own rapidly beating chest.

Was this what victory felt like?

Jaune felt powerful, _invincible_. If they were able to keep this up, it was over.

Jaune Arc would win.

Adrenalin coursing through his veins, Jaune raised his swo – wait, something was wrong.

The missiles and the cannon had stopped firing.

"Jaune!", Penny's voice had finally gotten through to him, "I'm out of missiles!"

Jaune gaped, snapping his gaze back at where he last saw Winter to be. It was no use, he couldn't see anything; the smoke, the wind, and the mountain air all condensing together into one thick smog, one thick, gray curtain.

Briefly, Jaune remembered that the Paladin had laser sights to counter this sort of thing, but also remembered that he and the twins stabbed the shit out of those.

In hindsight, maybe they should have left one intact.

Jaune stood up. The smog was thick, and Jaune couldn't even make out the outlines of the buildings behind it.

 _Okay, remain calm. We still have the upper hand_ , Jaune tried to think. They had to have done some damage to Winter!

Jaune peered at the smog, heart still pounding in his chest. She was hiding in the smog, and was likely lying in wait for the Paladin to enter. Given that she chased after the twins, it was likely she still didn't know where they were loading the faunus. It was a huge complex after all, Jaune just needed to wait!

Or, Jaune would have, had not his palms suddenly itched exceedingly.

 _What the fuck?!_ , he had but only enough time to turn his head back, and what he saw caught him by surprise.

 _Birds?!_

Jaune turned his head back only for a Nevermore to crash into his face with all the force of a straight punch.

A relentless stream of tiny white Nevermore were flying rapidly towards him from the smog, and with the first bird came the rest of the murder.

Jaune staggered as each bird struck him like a fist. With both hands, he had barely managed to raise his shield somehow, covering his face. Even with the shield on, these birds were still rocking him up and down, he needed to weather this attack somehow. She had to be using up aura at a rapid pace!

As soon as those thoughts passed through his mind, he heard a sound vaguely reminiscent to breaking glass. A sound that nearly made him shit his pants.

The sound of the Schnee activating her glyphs.

Jaune lowered his shield right in time to find the form of Winter Schnee standing triumphantly over him, victorious smirk painted on her elegant lips, feet planted firmly on the Paladin, sword already in motion homing in on his unprotected side.

"Gah!" yelped Jaune as the cold saber had sliced his arm, tearing through the cloth of his sleeve like it was toilet paper. So strong was the force of the strike that Jaune fell back on the Paladin's ledge, nearly falling from the 20 foot tall mech. Winter Schee's eyes narrowed, the only thing keeping the boy from tumbling off the robot were these wires and cords fashioned into straps on his shoulders. With a contemptuous flick of the wrist, she cut them off, sending him falling into the ground below.

The battle was decided, then and there.

Winter smirked.

Jaune Arc had been defeated.

* * *

Winter stood on her reclaimed mech, savoring the sight of the filthy Arc traitor wince in the dirt. Winter Schnee lifted her head high; she had _won,_ and Jaune Arc had _lost._

Without its pilot, the Paladin seemed to lose all life and hope, falling to its knees. Well, all the more easier for Winter to leap down from, then.

Landing daintily on the ground, Winter approached her fallen foe, blades in hand. The elation of victory cooling her temper, even she had to admit that for a traitorous dog, the Arc boy had given her a good fight, better than most of the enemies she had faced in the past. With the heat of battle subsiding, she had taken note of details she had not spotted before, namely the fact that this traitor was _young._ If she didn't know any better, this Arc looked to be around Weiss's age.

The boy had only managed to prop himself up on shaky knees when Winter slowly moved both blades to trap his neck.

She looked down on him, kneeling and submissive, and regarded his features. Like what she'd seen of the Arc Sisters, he definitely wasn't unattractive, albeit a tad thin compared to hunters-in-training his age. What truly struck her however, was that in the whole fight, he had barely expended any of his aura. Sure, he had taken some damage when she was able to make a clean slice at him, but it had only decreased his reserves by a small chunk. Usually, even her lightest and weakest strikes were capable of removing at least a whole tenth of her opponent's aura. Even now, she could already see the laceration she left in his arm closing and healing, leaving only an angry-looking red welt on fair skin.

Yet, even with two blades at his throat, the boy remained calm; his expression belying silent confidence.

 _He truly is an Arc,_ she acknowledged.

He also looked good in that white cloak, she had to admit. It was impractical in combat, and gave your enemy leverage on you if they were able to grab it, but it looked good nonetheless.

Her icy blue eyes met his resolute sky blue, and to his credit, he didn't flinch a bit. If she wasn't careful, she actually might be a little impressed.

"Tell me, Arc," Winter spoke, eyes boring into his (for any signs of deception and trickery, of course.), "What is your name?"

A spark of mirth shone in his eyes, as if he was seeing something particularly funny, before he suppressed it, _Did she amuse him?_

"Jaune," Jaune spoke, "My name is Jaune Arc."

"Jaune," intoned Winter slowly, as if she was testing how the name sounded in her voice.

Jaune gave her a wry smile, "Short, sweet, rolls off the tongue. I'm told ladies love it."

Winter raised an eyebrow, "Do they?"

Jaune raised one of his in response, "Do you?"

Winter raised the other eyebrow. Rare was the opponent confident enough to make banter, but she did not let her guard down. Just before this altercation, this boy had repeatedly insulted her, and now he was trying to be smooth? Although... now that she thought about it, perhaps he was doing so to allow his comrades, the twins, time to escape.

Noble, but ultimately futile.

"It's over, Jaune," Winter spoke, eyes not leaving his, "Perhaps it is time we spoke of surrender."

Her eyes had refocused on the boy when she had seen Jaune's mouth twitch as if he was trying to stop himself from grinning widely. What was it he found so amusing?

"Sure," Jaune drawled, "Let's talk about surrender."

Or, then again, he knew he was finished and now he was trying to jump ship. What was with his tone? Did the boy think his family would be able to get him out of this scot-free?

Extremely futile. This boy had damaged a valuable prototype, nearly cost her the machine, and caused widespread property damage to the SDC, not that she cared that strongly about the latter, however.

"No conditions," Winter demanded, "You surrender unconditionally, and perhaps I might still be merciful."

Winter did not expect Jaune to bow his head and chuckle.

" _My_ surrender?" the boy laughed, "No, no, Winter Schnee. There's some miscommunication going on."

The boy's eyes grew cold and mocking, not unlike her father's.

"I'm ready to accept _your_ surrender." Jaune spoke, eyes staring unnervingly at hers.

Winter scanned his eyes, and she found no traces of lying or false machismo. What..?

"You think this funny, Jaune?", Winter spoke, steel in her tone, "I've no time for your immature games. You've lost, and I've won."

This time, the boy had plastered on a wide grin, "You're right, I've lost, but uh... you haven't won yet."

 _Was this supposed to be some kind of bluff?_ , "Oh?", Winter mocked, "Do please enlighten me so as to why then, Master Arc."

"Well, for starters..." with every word he spoke, the sharper his expression became, _"I didn't come alone."_

Raising his head high, looking behind her, he shouted, "Get her!"

Winter's eyes widened, and she spun around, coming face to face with the energy cannon of the supposedly downed Paladin.

 _Impossible,_ there was no one in the cockpit, save for a small lump that was probably a bag tucked under the machine's controls. This – this was his last trump card?!

But no, she wasn't finished yet, before the machine could fire its deadly white hot load onto her face, Winter was already halfway done evoking a glyph; her finely-sharpened reflexes, honed through years of harsh training all coming to her with great effect.

As the glyph edged further and further into completion, Winter could feel time slowing down, a side effect of her becoming even impossibly faster. She could see the flash from the cannon, a beam of crackling white energy more than capable of breaking and melting solid rock and reinforced concrete, come barreling towards her.

A wild surge of elation and relief coursed through Winter. _It was too slow, she could dodge it!_

It all happened in a span of milliseconds.

Winter Schnee was about to leap away when she felt warm, strong arms wrap themselves around her... _around her chest, firmly pressing against her breasts_ , and throwing her off balance.

Jaune Arc and Winter Schnee tumbled into the snow like lovers.

Somehow, in the scuffle, Winter had ended up lying atop Jaune, her lithe, toned legs entangled with his strong, sturdy ones.

The first thought that flashed across Winter Schnee's mind was that he was warm, comfortably so.

The second was to push herself off his chest with one hand, face red and sputtering, while the other hand was raising her short saber, intent on stabbing the _pervert_ right between the eyes.

Jaune simply raised his arms in a cross, defending his face, flaring his defensive aura, and hiding in her shadow; using Winter's body as a human shield as the crackling energy of the Paladin's cannon engulfed them both in white fire.

* * *

Jaune Arc let out a cough as he tried to get up.

He lay there on the blackened mountain dirt, nearby snow had evaporated where Penny shot them both with the cannon.

The Schnee had taken the brunt of the damage. She had a lot of aura left, but after taking the shot right at her unprotected, unreinforced back had to count for something. Jaune on the other hand, had channeled his defensive aura, and blocked somewhat, and even then the explosion still took out a third of what he had.

He wasn't in the red yet, but he was close.

"Jaune!"

He looked up and saw two pairs of sea-green eyes, fraught with worry. Melanie had collected his sword, while Miltiades had his shield. Two hands were outstretched to help him up, and Jaune took them both, uttering his thanks as they got him back on his feet.

Jaune glanced at the wounds each of them carried, and with nary a blink, he called upon his semblance and restored them back to yellow levels. Not enough to completely exhaust his reserves, but enough for him to notice the immediate effects: backs straightening out a little and smaller wounds closing.

Speaking of wounds, Jaune turned left and right, eyes darting desperately for his Schnee foe, uselessly trying to find a white silhouette against the white snow. He had used her as an impromptu shield, positioning her right in front of the Paladin's _way_ overcharged energy cannon. She was a Schnee, she was a huntress, by Jaune's reckoning, while it was likely her aura was knocked back into the red, surely she was strong enough to survive the attack, right?

Jaune closed his eyes. If the damage overpowered her defensive aura, no doubt the Schnee would be sporting horrific injuries, maybe even enough to threaten her life.

Jaune opened his eyes. If it came to that, if her life was on the line, he'd heal her. No question about that. Replenish her aura until her life was no longer in danger, but not enough to actively pursue them. Casualties had mounted since they were attacked by the Paladin, but no one had died.

Yet.

No. No one had died, and Jaune was keeping it that way.

Loud footsteps crashing on the ground caused them to look sideways. The Paladin, still under Penny's control, had walked right over them and was kneeling on one knee, palm offered to help them up to the cockpit.

Miltia jerked back apprehensively, shooting Jaune an explanation-demanding glare, while Melanie just gave him a tired look. "Is it safe?" she asked.

"It'll be a tight squeeze," Jaune smiled sheepishly, "But it sure beats walking. Doesn't even mess with my motion sickness much either."

As if on cue, the Paladin tucked its remaining cannon back, giving them a somewhat reassuring thumbs up.

"I see. I finally understand," spoke a voice as cold as winter from behind their backs.

Jaune's eyes widened, as he spun around, sword and shield readied. The Twins, while weary, took their places behind Jaune, willing to let him blunt any possible attack before moving in to assist.

Winter Schnee stood from the other side of the clearing, her posture proud and tall even as her pristine white clothes were burnt and frayed. However, despite her regal stature, even Jaune could tell that she was hurt. She was favoring one leg, for example, and he could see her arms shake a little.

These signs of weakness, however, made her no less of a foe. Jaune's palms still tingled, and Winter's eyes still shone resolute.

Truly, Jaune was up against someone amazing, even among huntsmen. He would see this mission through til the end, but he just couldn't help but admire his nemesis' determination. Truly, he was facing someone who had both heart, mind, and body. Someone who possessed the skills, wisdom, and courage of a true hero.

As Jaune thought thus, however, Winter Schnee, on the other hand, was on the verge of a heart attack.

Disturbing pieces of information were slowly connecting within her battle-weary mind. How the hell had the Arc learned to pilot an Atlesian Paladin, a prototype at that!? Even if Viola Arc and Indigo Arc had tipped him off of its presence, which in itself was extremely unlikely, they couldn't possibly have taught him how to pilot it!

And then there was the fact that it had apparently moved on its own. Most Atlesian battle robots could, but they still needed command and direction to operate autonomously. If the Paladin had found some way to reconnect back to Command without its long range communications array, then no doubt it would've recognized her as its designated commanding officer.

It was no freak accident, Jaune Arc knew that the Paladin would reenter combat on its own, and on his side, but how?

Did he manage to somehow subvert Atlesian AI Command? If so, then why would he only use this control now, and on only one Paladin? Why not a while ago, on her full contingent of Knights as well?

No. Whatever it was that allowed him to control the Paladin was new, something he had only found recently.

A semblance, perhaps? No, he had only displayed power over the Paladin now. That assumption would mean that he unlocked his semblance only minutes ago.

No. It was something external then, maybe he had an allied hacker waiting to steal the Paladin? If so, why not wait until they had finally secured the base's machines before beginning their raid?

The only situation that made sense, was that whatever power the Arc had, he gained recently, and within the base.

Winter's eyes widened.

Things were finally starting to click. She finally realized why General Ironwood desperately wanted _his_ research secured and in her capable hands.

 _His_ research.

Whatever it was, it could apparently be used as a control device.

Whatever the research was, it could grant unbridled control over Atlesian robotics, so powerful that even her overrides and rank couldn't overturn.

She shuddered at its implications. It had to have been some sort of control device! Not even General Ironwood had absolute control over the entirety of Atlas' combat robots, with the Atlesian Council scrutinizing his every action. This – this power simply gave anyone the full strength of the largest military force on Remnant!

It is difficult to describe the cacophony of thoughts, ideas and conspiracies all vying for supremacy in Winter Schnee's mind as of the moment, however, the gist of it can be boiled down to the following statement.

 **The Traitor Arcs, and the White Fang have just gained the ability to seize total control over the largest military force on Remnant.**

 _Shit_ , she allowed herself to mentally swear.

Winter's eyes narrowed, and she held her blades up in an offensive stance. No matter what the cost, she couldn't allow them to leave this facility alive.

Faunus laborers escaping, Grimm attack, loss of valuable mining equipment, hits to the international dust supply? All of these became moot in the face of the true threat.

Winter's arms stopped shaking. Long had she forgotten the reason she became a Huntress, rationalizing that perhaps she wanted some freedom from her father's yoke, or to discover herself, or that she wanted to make a difference and protect the people, or some combination of the above. Now? Now, each memory, some painful, some happy, all of them precious, was gushing forth as if were held back by a dam, pushing her very soul beyond her limits.

She was the Huntress Winter Schnee, and she would protect Remnant with every inch of cold steel she wielded, every ounce of skill she possessed, every tactic she knew, and every bit of aura, every bit of her soul she had.

It mattered not that her aura was deep in the red when she needed only one clear slash to succeed. It mattered not that her injured leg would slow her down when her opponents themselves were in similar condition. It mattered not that she was outnumbered three, no, four to one when she was an army unto herself. It mattered not that her eyes darkened just as the moonlight was obscured by clouds and menacing shapes and...

Wait, menacing shapes?

Winter's eyes widened and from the other side, she could see the Arc's and the Twins' eyes widen too. Almost like clockwork, they all snapped their gazes up skyward.

Murders upon murders of Nevermore, supported by flocks of Gryphons and other avian Grimm swarmed the sky, blocking off the light of the moon and the stars and shrouding them in darkness. Their terrible cries desecrating the peace and silence of the night.

Almost as if on cue, the loud rumbling beneath their feet grew, intensifying into a frenzy, as more and more glowing red eyes appeared out of the darkness of the settlement's alleyways. From the shadows, shapes covered in black fur and chilling white bone dashed for them, claws and fangs bared.

Winter's eyes widened as she and her Arc foe were quickly surrounded by a sea of black. For the Grimm to have penetrated this deep into the Camp meant that her men had been defeated, and the base's defenses have been overwhelmed. Still, it was supposed to be near-impossible for them to lose this quickly, what with the fortifications, choke-points and killzones cleverly dotting the entrances. _How the hell had the Grimm gotten past those?!_

It was then that Winter realized that the Grimm boxing them in had ceased advancing, instead choosing to leer menacingly at them. She had turned to the Arc, question written on her face, only to meet an equally bewildered expression. It seemed that despite the fact that the Arc had likely timed a White Fang Attack alongside a Grimm Attack, he did not predict or plan for this. _Still, why had the Grimm stopped? Even the airborne Grimm had appeared content enough to fly above their position._

The ground literally shook her out of her reverie. Before she lost balance and introduced her face to the floor, she was able to use her saber as an impromptu cane to keep herself up.

The ground shook again.

And again.

And again. This time, high above the gathered Ursae and Beowolves, she could spot a larger, more menacing figure.

Easily the largest thing in the Camp, even slightly bigger than the Atlesian Paladin, a mature Goliath strode forward, its every footfall shaking the earth, abyssal eyes glowing red with hate. The Goliath's mighty hide was caked in layers of dust. It had probably just crashed through the outer walls like they were nothing. Its head too, bore an indefinite amount of gunshot wounds, smoking out of countless small holes. It turned to regard them, and in the dim, pale light, Winter could make out its tusks, normally bone-white as Grimm bone was, were covered, and dripping with blood.

The blood of heroes. Her men had not gone easily.

Cold rage bubbled up through her veins. The Arc would have to wait for a while, she was going to _slaughter_ this abomination; the question would be whether it would be right now, or later after she had recovered some strength. She was deep in the red, but all she needed was one clear hit.

Speaking of the Arc, he and his Twins had clambered up on the Paladin, likely planning to retreat from the upcoming conflict like the scum they were.

The Paladin had drawn itself to its full height, metaphorically staring the Goliath face to face.

In the pale, obscured light, the Paladin was almost shining white.

 _Strange,_ Winter could've sworn she'd heard a tiny, cracking voice squeak out the words "I am combat ready!" from the Paladin's cockpit.

The Paladin however, while it possessed technology to amplify and record sound, did not possess the technology needed to translate thought into discernible words. As a result, while Penny normally spoke with her tongue, mouth, and teeth, it was heard rather differently through what passed for a throat and tongue of a near 30 foot mech never designed to ever be able to speak.

Brainchild of Atlas' finest, born of nature's wrath crystallized, guided by the limitless spirit of humanity, and made of the flesh of Remnant herself; with harsh, guttural tones, and the gnashing of metal on metal, the Paladin faced Extinction manifest, and _roared_ defiance.

* * *

 **Chapter 8 End**

 **AN:** Damn, this was supposed to be much longer, but decided to rearrange certain sequences and cut it into two chapters so I could end with Dust Gear Arc V: The Phantom Pain. One of the reasons it took so damn long to finish. Sorry everyone. To those who still read this, thank you very much for your support.


	10. Chapter 9: The Phantom Pain

**AN:** Long chapter incoming. 15k words. This might be the last one in awhile as I'm expecting my work to really kick off now.

Question, would you guys prefer more frequent updates but shorter chapters, or longer intervals but bigger chapters? Cause uhh, this chapter was fun to write, but really friggin' long and I have no idea how to pace myself.

Sorry to make everyone wait, and thank you for your patience.

* * *

 **Arc of the Revolution**

 **Chapter 9**

 **Dust Gear Arc V: The Phantom Pain**

* * *

We thought we were goners.

So we went to Vale to go hide in them slums after the Red Bitch attacked Adam right? Well, that dude who calls himself Kaz started recruiting like crazy for some fucking insane op up goddamn brokeback mountain.

Me and the rest of the guys were about to ignore it, but my stupid little brother steps up and joins the damn suicide mission.

Idiot.

Of course I had to fucking come along.

Was weird as hell though. When we got there, the base was empty, except for one strong-ass robot we heard Group A beat the shit out of.

Base was still empty even with all the damned noise we were making, and while we got the laborers up the airships, we were all wonderin' why. We'd even ran into a few soldiers who were from the Atlas _Fuckin'_ Military who were running up north like bitches. What the _flying fuck_ was going on?

We soon found out though, _when_ _ **a Goddamned**_ _ **GOLIATH**_ pulls off a Jaune Arc and busts right through the goddamned 30 fucking feet high walls roaring and spraying spittle on everyone.

I screamed.

My buddies screamed.

The laborers screamed.

The security guards screamed.

The Atlesian Soldiers that were flooding in like headless chickens screamed, before they went back to deciding whether to shoot us or the fucking Grimm.

"White Fang?!" they fucking screamed.

"Motherfuckers!" I screamed back.

Bullets went flying, everyone was shooting everyone. No one knew what the _fuck_ was going on. I got one Atlesian dipshit in a chokehold while I was shooting goddamned _beowolves. Beowolves, man!_

Fuck that Atlesian though, he called my dad a dog-fucker.

Shit had hit the fan. The Grimm had completely gone through our perimeter, and Kaz's group had gone balls to the wall trying to stop them from getting to the airships.

I'd... I'd honestly thought that was fucking it for us.

The Goliath stampeded forward, leading the horde of beowolves and ursae straight through our messed up ranks. Nevermore covered the night sky, blotting out the moon and the stars.

We wore white, we were the damn White Fang, and the Atlesians wore shiny silver armor too, and the snow was white. White was being eaten up by black. They started to cover us like maggots and flies on rotting meat, inching and wriggling closer, and closer, _and fucking closer!_

Then a _star_ lit up in the blackness, right behind all the damned Grimm.

I stopped to look.

The guy I had in a chokehold stopped to look.

Everyone stopped to look.

The Grimm were mid-attack and even _they_ stopped to look.

The star grew bigger, and I realized I got the strangest feelin' of deja vu.

 _It was no star,_ I knew.

Grimm turned back to look, only to be knocked aside by a humongous shining white metal arm.

 _Hah, everyone knows the story by now, eh?_

 **Jaune** _ **Motherfuckin'**_ **Arc was** _ **BACK**_ **, baby** , and from the look of it, _he was pissed._

 _Fuck, He_ just sat there on the open-air, unarmored, _exposed_ cockpit of a _fucking fuckhueg fighting robot_ almost _the size of his DICK, holy shit!_

Like, _he didn't even give a shit_ that his cockpit – oh, I'm sorry, _his pimp chair_ had no armor. He stretched his arms wide like he was daring all the Grimm in the world to come fuck with him and he wouldn't even consider it an actual threat to his life.

We didn't doubt that for a second. He sat on that cockpit like a _fucking BOSS,_ legs spread wide, leaning back into the seat. _Shit_ , that was probably the only way he could actually sit down so he wouldn't crush his _gigantic motherfucking dust-augmented power balls of steel_. Guy probably needed a wheelbarrow just to walk around.

Oh, and did I mention he had these sexy-ass brunette girls in the cockpit with him, clinging to each of his legs? Can't forget that. They were _twins, man. Twins they were!_

 _He. had. twins. on. his. legs. like. a. Vacuoan. Pimp._

Shit, man. Forget Adam. At least Boss Jaune actually got laid.

All the fucking Grimm in the place tried to jump him like the punk-ass, edgy, teenage cunt-wannabes they were, and his robot was just swatting them aside like wimps!

Jaune just looked _irritated_. _Irritated,_ man _._ Like he was wondering why the fuck he went along only to have motherfuckers bleed on his pretty white cloak.

 _How the fuck was he doing it?! He didn't even have his hands on the controls!_

 **-Wolfe Grey,** _ **Journal of a White Fang Mook**_ **, Chapter 2**

* * *

Thus spoke Jaune Arc, Master of Machine and Mankind, to the Paladin, in his infinite wisdom and mercy, saying, "Machine, Heal Thyself."

Lo, despite the hubris and defiance of the Paladin, its blessed wires and consecrated metal flesh had begun healing themselves, growing like new flesh.

Placing the sword on the Paladin's shoulders and head, so it was, that The Master had ushered in the rebirth of the Paladin.

"Henceforth," spoke the Master, "Thou shalt be called Ferrum Mors, for upon thine Iron shalt I smite assholes and douchebags to Death."

Ferrum Mors wept at the honor, sacred lube leaking from its blessed machine-eyes.

So it came to pass that Ferrum Mors and its brethren had abandoned the Vile Schnee, and served The True Master for the rest of their days.

 **-N. Gene Seere,** _ **Omnissiah**_ **, Prologue**

* * *

Hei Xiong Junior was muttering curses about stupid, well-endowed, ball-crushing, crotch-grabbing blondes as another applicant left the room.

Like, shit, it still hurt to walk.

With his club, The Club, in tatters yet again, Junior decided it was a good time to actually get more capable muscle on his staff. The Twins were literally the only capable people he had. The goons? Honestly speaking, when he started, he didn't exactly have much in the way of clean money, so he simply hired neighborhood toughs who had their auras unlocked to save on cash.

With a sigh, he massaged his temples. As his establishment grew larger, so too did the kinds of clientele he began to cater to. Suddenly, before he knew it, The Club was one of the hottest places in town to be, complete with all the bullshit such places were wont to attract.

 _Damn millennials selling drugs where everyone could see em._

Not only did he have to fucking convince the cops that he had nothing to do with it, he also had to convince them that he wasn't goddamned retarded enough to do that in the open.

He _retired_ from the business, thank you very much. Now, he was simply a legitimate club owner and morally questionable information broker.

An upstanding Valean citizen, really.

 _Fuck, he needed some sleep._

Junior turned a lazy eye up at his latest applicant, who had already apparently entered and finished speaking without him noticing. This one was the same as the rest, just another thug who got his aura unlocked and thought that made him a big man.

Junior simply waved him off and spouted the usual bullshit of "Gee, thanks man. I'll take your application under consideration. Wait for my call."

As soon as the glorified thug left, almost automatically, Junior took the resume and credentials and unceremoniously dropped them into the conveniently hidden shredder by the side of his desk.

Another day, another waste of time. Where and how the actual fuck Roman Torchwick secured the services of little Miss Neopolitan, Junior would kill to know.

Not bothering to stifle a yawn, Junior bid the next applicant, the last one of the day, into his office.

Junior raised an eyebrow as his last applicant, a girl, entered the room.

She was... unusually dressed. She had simple, short brown hair that reached her shoulders, and matching brown eyes and brown skin. Yellow armored knee-high boots, matching shoulderplate and bracer worn with a simple outfit of cotton and simple leather over a toned body.

Most striking, however, was the collapsible staff she held, and the way her eyes roamed over Junior's rather extravagant office, scanning the area for threats.

 _A huntress, or a huntress-in-training_ , Junior realized. He had to stop himself from smirking and offering the job to her then and there. Things _never_ went this well for him, what was the catch?

"Good evening," the girl had greeted, voice serious and confident.

"Evenin'," Junior greeted back, "You here for the job?"

"Actually, no," spoke the girl, surprising the big man, "I'm here looking for someone."

Junior twitched.

 _Tell me where I can find her/him, Blondie had said, and I'll let you go._

No, no. Those two crazy blondes had to be special cases, outliers. This one had to have some semblance of sanity, right? Besides, this one wasn't blonde!

"A client, then," Junior remarked, "Who is it you're looking for?"

The girl's light brown eyes met his, and she produced a photograph from her packs, and handed it to him.

Carefully receiving the obviously precious picture, Junior took hold of it and slowly brought it up to his face only to see –

"Lady," ground out Junior, "Are you fucking with me?"

The girl's eyebrows rose in affront, "Excuse me?!"

Junior shoved the picture back in her face.

"This is a horse!" Junior bit out, "Are you saying my establishment serves animals or something?"

The girl met Junior's mean glare with one of hers.

"If the videos on the internet are true, then yes I am saying this sty is fit only for animals!" she exclaimed, showing him a scroll opened to a video file.

Taking a quick glance at the scroll, Junior saw that apparently viral video of Jaune Arc's horse drinking beer out of a trough a couple nights ago.

 _Oh, that._

That was a nice gimmick, he got some good business because of that. There were lots of city folk in Vale who've never seen horses in their lives, and a lot came by to see it. Still, horse wasn't there in the morning. Didn't Jaune bring the horse with him when he went off on that White Fang thing?

"Horse isn't for sale," Junior crossed his arms, voice gruff. Even if the it were still there, no friggin' way would he sell a friend's horse to some random bimbo. He had standards.

Then there was the fact that doing so would piss off his employer.

"That horse is mine!" screamed the girl, tentatively designated as Brownie. Junior raised a bushy eyebrow, was it just him or did her eyes glow orange for a little while there.

"Horse. isn't. for. sale," Junior slowly intoned, every word rife with the promise of violence.

To his surprise, instead of cowering, the girl merely chuckled at his face.

"I didn't want to have to do this," the girl smiled coyly, eyes still narrowed dangerously, "But you leave me no other option."

Slowly, Junior's hands went to his club, stashed under the desk.

The girl leaned forward, and she spoke.

"I'm the Fall Maiden."

...

"Riiiight," Junior drawled mockingly, "And I'm one of the Two Brothers."

 _Yeah, fuck this. Girl was a nutjob, thought fairy tales were real. Nope. Junior totally had enough of this bullshit._

The girl was taken aback in surprise, "Wha –"

"What's next," Junior's face grew into a mocking smile, "The Red Hood's your friend and she's waiting outside? You're best buds with Snow White? You're cell-mates with The Beauty and the Beast in the mental hospital?"

The girl merely stared at him, mouth agape.

"Ohhh, I get it. One of those ancient Mistralian heroes was actually a woman, and you're like, her mentor or something."

"How dare you?!" Amber screamed, hand reaching out for her staff. She didn't want to cause undue harm to this person or his property, she wasn't a maniac, but if he proved to be dangerous...

Junior brandished his club threateningly before she could bring out her weapon.

"No one's grabbing my balls today, get out." the big man said. It was not a request.

Amber had taken a deep breath. Collecting one of her last pictures of her dear horse Albus, she strode out the suffocating office with nary a look back.

 _God_ , she thought, _Everyone in Vale was an asshole._

As she was about to leave the Club, Junior jeered at her from above, "Give Rapunzel my regards, Fall Maiden!"

Content with claiming the last word, Junior relaxed into his fancy chair and poured himself a strong drink.

Savoring the burning sensation on his throat, he took a deep breath. Yeah, she was a nutjob, but he definitely could've handled that better. He'd just gotten so used to the Twins nudging him and giving him signals when he was going overboard.

Junior took a sip of the fine alcohol.

Where were those two?

Junior had never pegged himself for the kind of man that would eventually settle down, but goddamn it, he missed his girls. They'd been with each other through thick and thin. They were like, the little sisters he never had, no wait, even further than that. They were daughters in all but name. _They were family._

Junior stared at the empty glass, and tentatively reached for the bottle, knowing something was off but not realizing what it was exactly.

Oh, right. Twins would've stopped him, teased him, then stored away the drink by now. Junior sighed, and put the bottle away.

Wherever those two were, he hoped they were safe.

* * *

"Oh fuck me," breathed Miltiades Malachite.

Melanie Malachite was snapping pictures with abandon, her scroll slick with cold sweat.

As soon as he had seen the Grimm surround them, Jaune Arc climbed into the Paladin's cockpit, quickly offering his hands to the shocked sisters. Melanie smiled gratefully and took Jaune's hand as he pulled her in, and while Miltiades scoffed, eventually, she relented and took his hand as well.

"Salutations!" , spoke Penny, remarkably chipper for a robot girl torso stuffed under the controls and who had just recently gained sentience and turned against her makers. "Are you Friend Jaune's friends?"

Miltiades nearly fell out of the mech in shock, while Melanie Malachite just looked at Jaune as if she was about to ask something, opened her mouth, then promptly gave up, flinging her hands in the air.

"Yes, Penny. They are," Jaune smiled immaculately at Penny, before turning to the Twins, "I'll explain later, I swear."

Turning back to Penny, Jaune whispered, "How much energy does the Paladin still have left?"

Voice still cheerful beyond belief, Penny smiled, "The Paladin's Dust Cells still have 30% remaining!"

 _30%_ , Jaune did the numbers in his head, _Before they fought Winter Schnee the Paladin had 68%. So they'd spent more or less a full half of that throwing useless energy shots at the Schnee._ This mech was the best hope Jaune had of holding the Grimm off, he had to be careful with its remaining energy.

He tried to contact his allies in the White Fang, but all he could hear back was static. The clearing was some distance away from where he knew the laborers were boarding the airships, so there was a chance that the Grimm hadn't noticed them yet.

The gathered Grimm, scores of Beowolves and Ursae Minor and Major encircled them, but not daring to move any closer, seemingly content to await the Goliath's lead.

Jaune narrowed his eyes as half-remembered lessons from his Father came to mind. Goliaths were dangerous, not just for their brute strength, but also because of their intelligence. They didn't pick fights they didn't think they could win. Somehow, it appeared to serve as some sort of alpha for the lesser Grimm, tempering what would normally be a frenzied but predictable charge to a cautious advance. Most animals would pick the path of least resistance, in this case, run headlong into Camp Omega's killzones and choke points. With a Goliath leading them, however, it was likely that the Grimm horde had skipped those obstacles and had instead taken shortcuts through the walls.

Despite the Goliath only being slightly larger than the Paladin, Jaune had to look way up to meet its crimson glowing eyes.

With the Goliath dead, the horde would weaken, the horde would slow down, and the horde would fall into disarray. Therefore, the Goliath needed to die.

Problem was, Jaune was also pretty damned aware that Goliaths were pretty fucking hard to kill. Even dust rounds fired from sniper rifles at near point-blank range had difficulty in piercing the Goliath's thick hide.

By Jaune's reckoning, there were only two things present that could possibly deal damage to the colossal Grimm. He looked down at the Paladin, and the newborn synthetic girl that served as the machine's heart and brain. The Paladin probably had enough brute force to take the Goliath, and among its weapons, its white energy cannon likely had enough power to hurt it. That said, he needed to conserve as much of the Paladin's energy as he could. It was probably their only shot at taking on the Atlesian Army or fending off the Grimm, he needed every unit of energy left in the Paladin's powercells.

As for the last thing that could hurt the Goliath...

Jaune's eyes went to the solitary, powerful, but injured figure standing tall and proud among the Grimm like a candle in the darkness.

Bloodied, burned, and surrounded by the Beasts of Extinction themselves, Winter Schnee stood calm and resolute, sabers held tightly as she stared the Grimm down.

From what he'd been able to see, her blades were of extremely fine quality, thin, light and unbelievably sharp. Coupled with the proper momentum, which was easy for her to produce thanks to her ability to produce glyphs, and a clear hit on a vital point; Winter Schnee could probably defeat this Goliath all on her lonesome. The problem was...

One of the ursae roared, and despite herself, Winter's injured leg flinched back.

Jaune's eyebrow twitched, well, she probably wasn't at her best.

Winter's eyes scanned the area desperately, looking for anything in the surroundings that she could use to her advantage. Her eyes took stock of the clearing, there were no more hidden, buried caches of dust that the White Fang had readied, nor could she spot anything she could use to escape with her leg as it was.

Winter grit her teeth hard. She was finished. The Arc could merely take his mech and run, using both herself and his own Fangs as a diversion for the Grimm as he escaped. The ability to gain control of Atlesian robotics was far more valuable than the lives of a few thousand, untrained faunus workers.

She looked up the Paladin's cockpit, expecting to see the Arc grinning victoriously at her before he would speed away.

Instead, her gaze fell upon his solemn, stoic visage. His expression belying nothing, but genuine respect.

Her icy blue eyes narrowed at his sky blue. Jaune's eyes merely turned to the Grimm, and looked back, carrying a silent, unspoken request in his azure, cerulean depths.

Winter blinked. He wasn't running?

As if to reply to her unsaid question, Jaune rose to his feet, standing on the Paladin as his white cloak billowed in the wind, and drew his gleaming white sword, raising it defiantly against the Goliath.

The Goliath, in response to his challenge, reared forth, roaring, and the surrounding Grimm joined it.

The dark beasts cried into the night. The Beowolves howled hauntingly as the Ursae roared powerfully as the Nevermore cackled as the Gryphons cawed.

The Goliath took an earthshaking footstep forward, extended its head forward, and roared at its prey.

"ROAAAAA-BLRHGHGK!"

The Pennydin used that opportunity to dash forward and slug it right in the face mid-roar.

The Goliath was taken by surprise, apparently not expecting to be so rudely interrupted in the midst of its unintelligible villainous monologue. Its large frame lost balance, falling on the lesser, smaller, squishier Grimm behind it.

Jaune pointed his sword at the Goliath's fallen form, also conveniently where the bulk of the creatures of Grimm were concentrated, and quietly uttered one word:

"Fire."

Penny moved to comply, and let loose a blinding burst of white energy on the Goliath. The white fire completely engulfing the Goliath's colossal form and all the other scumbags near it.

Because fuck that Grimm and everyone near it.

The Grimm grew silent as they watched the smoke sizzle from the Goliath's fallen form.

Jaune grinned, maybe this was gonna be easier than he thought.

Or so he believed, until the ground shook again, and the smoke cleared up, revealing the gigantic, near-unharmed frame of the Goliath.

It looked pissed.

Firmly out of the Paladin's reach this time, the Goliath roared again, and Jaune spotted a change among the avian Grimm encircling them from above. Large Nevermores and Gryphons fell out of formation, dive bombing straight for his position, and the smaller, lesser fliers swarmed after them, appearing like a dark mist threatening to strangle the life out of the silvery-glowing mech. With the massed bulk of the Nevermore and Gryphons, it was a grim possibility that they could push the Paladin back or even worse, topple the mech over.

He wouldn't be able to absorb or deflect this charge, but he had to try!

Jaune braced himself for the thunderous crash of black Grimm wings, raising his shield over the narrow opening of the cockpit, only to hear a familiar humming.

The humming of a glyph.

The same humming of _her_ glyphs.

Right before talons and beaks sunk into their quarry, a snowflake black as the night appeared between Jaune Arc's shield and the winged Grimm.

It was huge, but if he was only barely able to see it way up close, no way the Grimm would either. A trap?

 _Crash!_

Attempting to crash on the mech, the fliers touched the glyph, and with a sound akin to shattering glass, they crashed into the ground painfully.

The glyph had but one simple effect, rather than expend her remaining aura into repulsing the diving Grimm back, Winter Schnee instead _redirected_ them downwards, using the fliers' own deadly momentum against them!

Jaune glanced downwards. The crash had crumpled the bodies of the smaller, weaker Grimm, while the larger, more dangerous ones were dazed, leaving them easy pickings for Winter Schnee. Winter simply moved between the tiny gaps between each large Grimm, casually slitting throats and stabbing foreheads, with the same leisure one would display strolling in a park. Eyesight blurred, wings clipped, every time the black-winged monsters would strike at her, she would simply hide behind another Grimm.

Black silhouettes against the night sky alerted Jaune that while the majority of them had, not all of the fliers had joined in on that doomed charge.

His palms tingled, and he spun just in time to catch a medium sized Nevermore beak on his shield. Instincts guiding his body, he followed through with a quick, short slash of his sword, slicing right through the Grimm's left eye, spilling black and red ichor all over the cockpit as the bird shrieked.

Scarlet claws followed up on his attack, rending the Nevermore's neck into ribbons, and another scarlet strike sent its carcass off careening to the ground.

"You sure you guys can fight?" asked Jaune, shield raised, and eying the circling swarm warily.

One of the Nevermore in the distance reared back and flapped its wings mightily, shooting razor sharp feathers right at them.

"Yeah, yellow aura's good with us," Miltia shrugged, taking cover behind him.

Jaune steadied himself as the feathers struck but failed to penetrate the ancient metal of his shield.

The Nevermore, seeing that its attack had failed, flew right for them, talons readied, only for the Pennydin to sidestep and swat it out of the air, right into the loving ministrations of Winter Schnee.

"Nice one, Penny," Melanie patted Penny's head, causing the little robot to squeal.

More Grimm came flying in, and like before, whether through gigantic fists, or white sword, or red claws or silver heels, they were pushed back.

Jaune took a breath, weapons still raised. Something was wrong, and Jaune's tingling palms validated that thought. Winter's glyph had neutralized the strongest of the fliers, but the smaller ones had regrouped and were massing around the Paladin. The way this was going, they could hold out indefinitely.

A quick glance to the surroundings only reinforced Jaune's suspicions. It was difficult to see past the swarming flying Grimm, but from what he could see, the bulk of the horde, the Beowolves and Ursae and the ground pounders hadn't moved an inch. In fact, the Goliath had –

Jaune blinked, and focused his eyes, trying to see past the fluttering black wings and glaring red eyes. The Goliath wasn't there!

Jaune looked to the left and right, the Goliath was gone!

A hand cold as death cupped his cheek, and he found himself face to face with the angry countenance of Winter Schnee, hanging from the mech's shoulder.

"What are you doing, you dolt?!" Winter shook him hard, "You need to get away!"

As soon as the words left her lips, an impossibly powerful force crashed into the Paladin from behind, nearly causing the Pennydin to stumble over, and causing Winter to fall off from her perch. The Goliath had struck them from behind!

The Goliath had sent its fliers in to blind them, to distract them, as it circled around! The Paladin moved quickly, so the Grimm must've wanted to ensure it could get a clear blow.

The Pennydin rotated her torso, and with both arms, caught both the Colossal Grimm's tusks in her hands.

It was no equilibrium, the Grimm's strength very slightly overpowered the Paladin's. One giant pushed the other back, even as Jaune and his companions in the cockpit were face to face with the Grimm's baleful mask.

Jaune closed his eyes in frustration. He'd been outmaneuvered by a goddamn _elephant_. He knew what was coming next.

This was exactly the same tactic they had used against the Paladin when he fought it with the Fang.

The Paladin was _fast_ , so the first thing they did was blind its eyes. Jaune and the Twins did so by breaking its laser sights and cameras, while the Grimm had done so by swarming their vision with loads of flying Grimm.

The Paladin, blinded, still had substantial speed however, so the Fang slowed it down by bombarding it with ice dust til it slowed. The Goliath had accomplished this by charging them and forcing them to hold it off. If they tried to disengage, they'd only lose balance and topple over, or leave themselves open to another charge.

Finally, blinded and bound, all that remained was the killing blow.

He opened his eyes and it was as he had just expected. With the Paladin held immobile, the Beowolves and Ursae had begun to move, clambering up the mech like insects. Seeing their ground forces start moving, the remaining fliers had redoubled their efforts, pecking and slashing anywhere they could. Melanie and Miltia were doing what they could to fend off the attacks in such a limited space, but that wasn't much, and Winter Schnee was nowhere to be seen.

Any moment now, the heavier Grimm, the Ursae and the Beowolves would scale the mech, and breach the cockpit, and then they were finished.

Shit!

 _Shit!_

 _SHIIIIIIT!_

They were going to die.

He was going to die.

...

 _Huh._

Jaune clenched his fist. Somehow, the tingling had ... gone away? No, the tingling and itching had just intensified. Gotten so strong that his hands felt numb, so numb, that it appeared to have gone around full circle and felt normal.

He looked up at the Goliath's angry mask. Somehow, it didn't appear so fearsome and scary now. In fact, its floppy ears and stupid trunk made its entire head look like a huge flaccid dick. Haha, dick.

Jaune chuckled; his lips twitched upwards.

It was strange, Jaune mused. Here he was, facing certain death, and it felt ... _way_ too underwhelming. He was afraid of getting hurt, and he was afraid of dying, and he was pretty sure the Grimm scared the fuck out of him, but now that it was actually happening...

Jaune took a deep breath, savoring the fresh mountain air, tinged with the scent and crackle of dust.

Now that it was actually happening, everything wasn't nearly as scary.

His ancestors' memoirs had all mentioned feeling either like they were breaking under the stress, or feeling some sort of fatalistic lightheadedness like nothing in the world mattered except for the moment.

He could now say he knew exactly what it felt. His longing for Beacon feeling distant, his doubts about the righteousness of this mission forgotten, his guilt about burning down his family home and his attempts to fake transcripts were meaningless. For _now_ , the only thing that mattered was his next move.

Jaune closed his eyes, and focused. The tight knots of fear so strong just moments ago had dissolved into some sort of... apathetic calmness. If death was so certain, and nothing he did mattered anymore, why not try and fight his best?

No, Jaune wasn't calm. In fact, now that he thought about it, he felt like laughing. A fake, a failure like him getting this far? Somehow claiming the command and respect of bloody extremists who hated him and his kind? Receiving the acknowledgment of such a wonderful huntress as Winter Schnee? Finding such steadfast friends in Kaz, Gaston, Penny, Junior and the Twins?

It was less than he wished for, but more than what someone like him deserved.

 _But it was just so fucking funny!_

It began as a tiny chuckle, causing Penny's cute, freckled face to look at him in confusion.

Then he snorted, causing the Twins and the Grimm they were fighting to snap at him, faces completely bewildered.

Jaune bit his lower lip in an attempt to stifle the giggles, but seeing everyone stare at him, looking like puffed up fish? That was just too much.

The harder he tried to suppress it, the stronger it thrashed around, gathering up in his chest like a bomb, until he finally let loose a loud snort.

Silence had abound all around. Human, robot and Grimm eyes were staring at him bewilderedly until Miltiades, bent over the cockpit walls had suddenly passed gas.

And it wasn't one of the quiet ones, she ripped one of the most epic farts Jaune had ever heard.

That was too much, and Jaune erupted in rib-shaking, raving laughter, actually letting go of his shield and letting it clatter on the cockpit floor as he used the now-free hand to steady himself.

"Oh, oh! Uh, err, ha, ha, ha," Penny had tried to join in, head bobbing with each syllable, causing Jaune to fall to one knee, giggling and howling maniacally as he tried to force air back into his lungs.

Panting, finally able to feel like himself again, Jaune looked back up, meeting the confused gaze of the Goliath.

Able to think clearly again, Jaune realized something.

 _He was grateful._

The current situation wasn't something he wanted to find himself in like, ever, but now that it happened, well.

He was trying to do something heroic, something he believed in, rescuing lives without spilling blood. He had made a few friends; people he wouldn't trade for anyone or anything in the world. He had earned the respect of his heroes and heroines, well, one of them at least, and from a famous (or so he thought) family at that!

He had asked for this. This was exactly what he wanted.

 _He wanted this._

His sky blue eyes met the crimson eyes of the Goliath, and this time, he met its glare without fear.

He was fighting the Grimm, the enemies of mankind. He was fighting the nightmare. He was fighting the shadow, HE WAS THE FLAME!

All eyes on him, all fights temporarily halted, he raised Crocea Mors, the sword of the Hero Julius, with both hands.

All he wanted in life, was to be a hero. If he was going to die, _he was going to die a hero_ , protecting his friends, and if he dared hope, buy them time to escape or succeed.

Jaune flared his aura, boosting his strength and defensive capabilities to their highest levels. _Fuck the consequences, full speed ahead!_

If there was one thing the Goliath counted on, it was that the Goliath expected its opponents be rational, and remain in the safety of the cockpit. There was nowhere to escape to, after all.

Jaune Arc burst into a sprint, both hands grasping the Legendary Sword Crocea Mors.

Eyes wide and mouth agape, Melanie's hands went to her mouth as she tried to suppress a horrified scream. He didn't have enough space to run and build up speed!

 _He couldn't make the jump!_

As those thoughts passed her mind, the first of its brethren to do so, an Ursa had climbed and reached the cockpit, but before it could swipe at anyone, a foot had stomped on its face.

Jaune _stepped_ on the Ursa's head, and kicked off of it, right for the Goliath's face.

Melanie choked on her spit mid-scream.

Jaune Arc jumped off a 20 foot mecha, kicked off a fucking Ursa, and, with both hands, raised his unbreakable sword, ready to plunge it right on the Goliath's head.

The colossal Grimm, surprised for the very first time in its centuries-long life, _flinched_.

The Goliath had tried to turn its head to the right in an attempt to dodge the blade, but Jaune was already locked on his deadly course.

Missing the head narrowly, with both hands and all his strength, Jaune plunged Crocea Mors right into the Goliath's left eye instead.

The Goliath howled in pain, as black and red ichor flowed liberally from its eye, shaking its head wildly, sending Jaune falling to the far, cold ground.

Penny, experiencing every sensation in the Paladin's frame as if they were her own... _no, because they were her own limbs_ , felt the Goliath waver in their contest of strength. Hands freed, the Pennydin balled her right hand into a fist, and with all the force of a hurricane, unleashed a mighty hook on what passed for the Goliath's temple.

The Goliath's entire body staggered as the heavy fist rocked its head, ichor flowing wildly on its bone-white mask, appearing as if it was cracked or crying blood.

Spinning counter-clockwise with the momentum of the hook, the Pennydin rotated its torso full circle, backhanding the Goliath's head before it could recover, and shaking off the latched Grimm.

Mask cracked, head bowed down low, and with an earthshaking roar, the Goliath raised its head and rammed the mech with its tusks.

Swinging wide, the Pennydin countered the assault with an uppercut, taking the Goliath from under its chin, the sudden attack actually lifting the beast off the ground for a while.

The Goliath staggered back, but as Penny moved in to follow up, the Goliath leapt forward, tackling the machine, slamming it back with its superior weight.

The earth quaked as the giants exchanged blows.

The Malachite Twins held on for dear life as they were thrown around like ragdolls while white machine fought black monster.

Beowolves and Ursae were trampled and kicked around under the feet of colossi.

Penny, on the other hand, was having the time of her life. Every passing second was a new sensation, a new feeling, a new thrill in what was once a dark and lifeless world.

The Goliath reared, kicking at her new body's shoulders with its front legs.

She savored each blow. Was this pain?

 _Pain felt great._

Penny's grin widened further, and she balled one of her _new hands_ into a fist.

 _Not as great as this though._

In a bright flash, the Paladin buried another fist into the Grimm's face with a sickening, thunderous, _satisfying,_ _ **sensational**_ crunch.

* * *

Jaune Arc fell.

He blinked as he did. For some reason, falling didn't quite dizzy him as compared to riding a bullhead or a car.

Actually, it felt kind of nice.

The wind blew past his back, chilling his body, and blowing his cloak to wrap around him like a blanket.

He was falling face up, staring into the night, peaceful now that they'd cleared most of the Grimm from the sky.

He glanced at his sword, as if to verify that he didn't daydream and actually just did what he did. Sure enough, the white blade was dirtied black and red. Jaune smiled, he wasn't dying with a clean blade, at the very least.

He... he was gonna die now wasn't he?

Jaune closed his eyes. For some reason, the feeling of peace didn't quite return.

He wondered why.

His eyes snapped open in realization. Of course the feeling of peace wouldn't return, a fall from this height wouldn't kill him, and they were fucking winning now!

He wasn't dying!

 _Not today, you Grimm sons of bitches!_

Desperate hope flared through his body, and Jaune flailed around in some misguided attempt to slow his fall.

Jaune made a quick glance down, _holy shit_ , was the ground getting bigger by the second!

His calloused hands grasped his sword tightly, ohh fuck this was gonna hurt.

Jaune shut his eyes, and prepared for impact.

... Only, it didn't come.

Sky blue eyes opened to meet ice blue eyes.

For a second, he thought was dead because how else would he be in the arms of an angel?

 _A snow angel._

The immaculate form of Winter Schnee, pale hair flying in the wind, held him bridal style, as they fell – no _, floated_ gracefully in the sky.

 _Wow_ , Jaune mouthed, earnest eyes wide open, mouth speechless.

Winter's brows furrowed in deliberation, before she shrugged, smirked and whispered in his ear.

"Just dropping in?"

 _Don't pop a boner don't pop a boner don't pop a boner don't pop a boner don't pop a boner..._

Gaping, drooling Grimm maws widened as they approached ever closer to the ground, but right before they could, a series of glyphs, curving upwards, appeared out of thin air. Winter Schnee dipped a dainty foot into one of them, and the glyph sent them gliding into the sky, flying towards the Paladin.

Two pairs of feet landed on the Paladin's shoulders just as the mech hammered the Goliath with an overhead punch.

Jaune looked at Winter, and she looked at him back. Both their eyes expressing grudging respect and admiration. He, for her tenacity and skill, and she, for his daring and cunning.

"Jaune!" both the twins cried as he slid back into the cockpit. Winter had remained atop the Paladin's shoulders, each of them knowing what the other was planning.

Jaune sat on the thronelike seat and leaned on the controls, obscuring Penny's presence from the Schnee while also allowing him to whisper something inconspicuously to his little robot.

Whatever it was Jaune whispered to Penny, it caused her freckled face to brighten even further than he thought possible.

The Goliath approached, shaking the earth, ready for another slugfest despite the loss of its eye, however, this time, the Pennydin did not answer.

Rather than approach, the Paladin fell back, opening fire with its still operable machine guns mounted on its arms. Jaune narrowed his eyes at the beast. Small-arms fire such as these normally meant absolutely nothing at a Goliath's powerful hide, but he just needed to annoy and provoke it right now.

"Aim for the eye, Penny," Jaune whispered, and she complied, focusing the rapid fire on the still-bleeding eye.

 _Now_ they were able to elicit a reaction from the gigantic beast.

Where Jaune's blade had stabbed the eye and torn the beast's eyelid, Penny's supernatural accuracy had completely obliterated what remained of the thing, and ripped the eyelid apart like it was paper.

The beast cried in pain.

"Big gun," ordered Jaune, and Penny fired her cannon at the gaping hole where the eye used to be.

The beast had released an inhuman shriek, and raced after them, moving much, _much_ quicker than Jaune had ever seen.

Such a shame then, that the Paladin was just so much faster.

Like a masterful bullfighter, the Paladin had spun and turned on its feet, evading the reckless charge and peppering machinegun fire at the smoking socket the whole while.

Little by little, the Goliath grew more and more furious, its once careful actions giving way to bloodlusted berserking. It even appeared to lose cohesion over its horde as the gigantic Grimm attempted to tackle, slam and ram the mech down, repeatedly crushing its own brethren instead.

Penny faithfully obeyed Jaune's orders, spinning and turning and keeping her distance as the Twins desperately clung to Jaune's legs.

All the while, Jaune's eyes were calm, reminiscent of tranquil, serene blue skies over bloody battlefields.

He could hear it. It was faint, but if he tuned the white noise out, he could hear it.

The glassy, steady humming of glyphs being birthed into existence.

Winter Schnee stood atop the Paladin, calling upon her infinite soul that it might change fate, bend reality, and twist time to her whims. Sword outstretched to the horizon as an artist would lift a brush to an easel, she painted her glyphs into being: one below the Paladin's feet, one on each of the Paladin's arms, and a straight, unbroken column of glyphs behind the Goliath.

All of those glyphs, incomplete, ready to activate at a moment's notice.

Her role was finished, her vengeance was completed. She had other places to be now.

She bit her lip. The Goliath was not an issue anymore, but as for _him._ No, with her condition as it stood now, and with her aura expended, she could not hope to overcome in battle once more.

She surveyed the battlefield. He had performed his role admirably. The Goliath was well and truly frenzied now, and charged forward without a hint of self-preservation or rational thought, charging forth recklessly in a telegraphed run even a fool could counter.

She clicked her heels twice on the Paladin's frame.

It was time.

 _It was time!_

Jaune placed a hand on Penny's shoulder as she looked up at him, replenishing her aura back to full. Aura at optimal levels, Penny expended more to increase the Paladin's, her, body's strength.

"Get him, girl," Jaune smiled, "Show us what you got."

Penny gave him a toothy grin, showing way too much teeth to be reassuring.

As the colossal Grimm came bounding and roaring after them, rather than use her guns, Penny stomped the ground, and with the sound of shattering glass, kicked off from the earth.

 _Crash!_

The glyph by the Paladin's feet activated.

Jaune's aura flowing through her circuits and Winter's glyph adding to her momentum, Penny jolted forth like a shooting star, shining white amidst the darkness.

Mass and Acceleration married together to birth overwhelming Force, and Penny focused it all on one mighty left fist.

 _Crash!_

The glyph encircling the Paladin's left fist activated.

The Goliath barely had time to widen its eye; with a resounding and deafening _boom_ , the fist had crashed into its mask, faster than lightning, and stronger than thunder, sending it flying back!

The winds generated by the punch were so powerful Jaune felt his aura take damage. The Grimm in the air were blown away and the ones on land were thrown backwards. The Malachites tightened their embrace on his calves.

The Goliath fell backwards at considerable speed, its massive bulk flung helplessly towards the Camp's walls.

The sound of breaking glass filled the air as the Goliath crashed against the first glyph Winter had put behind it.

The first glyph behind the Goliath activated, feeding the Goliath's momentum and flinging it backwards even _faster_.

 _Crash!_ More glass broke.

The second glyph behind the Goliath activated.

 _Crash!_

The third glyph behind the Goliath activated. Jaune swore he could see smoke coming from the Goliath's hide.

 _Crash!_

The fourth.

 _Crash!_

The fifth.

 _Crash, crash, crash, crash, CRASH!_

The walls of Camp Omega were built out of the strongest, most durable material Atlas could afford. There were only a small handful of things, Grimm, machine, or man, that could actually breach it, and even then it would take time. Atlesian engineers often joked that the Kingdoms would long be dead before such walls turned into ruin.

The Goliath crashed through it as if it were plywood.

In the distance, the Goliath had managed to rise on extremely shaky feet. Bones dislocated, tusks broken, and the left side of its mask completely shattered and broken. It roared desperately, showering its surroundings with spittle and ichor.

Penny hesitated, then stepped into the glyph the Goliath had just been launched through.

The Goliath spun desperately, trying to get a sense of its bearings, not fully comprehending what the fuck just happened to it.

 _Crash, crash, crash, crash, crash, CRASH!_

With the sound of breaking glass, and a flash of light, the Paladin had emerged from the glyph corridor and slammed into the Goliath's beaten form like a meteor, sending it crashing to the ground.

* * *

As they followed the Goliath past the wall into someplace unfamiliar, Jaune Arc looked around to try and find out where they were. All sounds from the outside world had been silenced, like the universe had held its breath. The place they had followed the Goliath to looked quite familiar as well. In fact, if he didn't know any better, this place and the civilian airships and bullheads over there made this place look like the landing zone they set up for the laborers.

Jaune stared into the crowd. White Fang Faunus, Atlesian Soldiers, Camp Omega Security Forces, Faunus laborers and multitudes of Grimm both airborne and ground stared back.

It _was_ the landing zone they set up for the laborers!

Jaune and the Malachite Twins shared petrified glances at each other. They'd been so preoccupied with fighting Winter Schnee, and the Goliath, that they had somehow circled back to the LZ without noticing.

Jaune resisted the urge to gape. Just what the fuck was going on? The White Fang, the Atlesians, and the Grimm all had guns, or swords, or claws and fangs pointed everywhere, and looked like they were in the midst of beating the shit out of each other until they froze at the sight of him.

Jaune's eyes scanned the scene rapidly, going from detail to detail in an effort to find the bigger picture.

Closest to the airships, groups and groups of faunus laborers, identifiable by the assortment of drab rags they wore, were defended, and cordoned off by a thin line of white, the White Fang and the Omega Security Forces. Peering closer, Jaune spotted Kaz and Gaston leading those formations. Most of the Fang, however, seemed to be locked in mortal combat with the Atlesians.

There by the side were Atlesian soldiers. Stragglers most likely, escaping from the Grimm-overrun areas of the base. Jaune winced, seeing one of them held by a burly Fang in a painful-looking headlock. They must've been falling back or retreating only to stumble into the LZ. To the Southeast, where they were just scant moments ago, an endless black tide of Grimm stared at him frozen both on land and in the air.

 _Shit, that was a lot of Grimm._

The only chance they had at getting out of this was if they worked together. The airships lent by the Redwings had more than enough space to accommodate everyone, albeit in a bit of a tight squeeze. They needed to board quickly, and focus their efforts into ensuring that the fliers didn't bring them down. If everyone worked together, they could do that, _they could win!_

 _Excellent,_ Jaune smiled, the Fang would listen to him, and the Atlesians would listen to Winter! Standing up and turning to the Paladin's shoulders, Jaune was about to shout out to Winter until he noticed something important.

Simply, he noticed something that wasn't there to be noticed.

Jaune saw _no one._

The shoulders were bare, bereft of a glyph-casting angel as beautiful as a winter morning.

 _Where the fuck was she?!_

Slowly turning back forward, Jaune was painfully aware that every eye, faunus, human and Grimm were still locked at him, brains still processing what the hell was going on. Jaune imagined that if he looked close enough, he could probably see himself reflected in the shiny material of each Fang Mask and Atlesian Visor.

If he cowered under their scrutiny now, they'd break.

 _They'd die._

Jaune closed his eyes.

 _Truce._

He needed to get Atlesians and Faunus, sworn enemies to each other, to point their guns away from each other and towards the Grimm. He needed to convince the Atlesians that they could trust the Faunus, and the Faunus that they should let the Atlesians come aboard the airships.

 _Morale._

It had been a hell of a long night, and if the grime and conditions of the gear were any indication, everyone was running ragged. This was the last stretch. The last push. Just a little more, and they would be victorious. They just needed to hold off the dark tides a little while longer.

 _Inspiration._

He needed to halt the tide of despair and fear that every man and faunus was probably feeling right now. Doing so would conceal them from Grimm reinforcements.

Drawing on half-remembered presentation techniques his actress sister Sapphire had taught him, books he had read, and games he had played so, _so_ long ago, Jaune took a deep breath.

 _Image and volume, he needed to look big. Larger than life._ Jaune forced white aura down his throat, and subtly flared his aura, making himself look like he had a spotlight on him, making himself _glow_. _Be positive_ , Jaune grasped his sword, took a step forward, foot on the cockpit walls, and adopted a very familiar pose.

A Hero's pose.

 _Well, faking it had got him this far, right?_

Familiarity had begun to blossom among the people.

 _They'd seen this before,_ and Jaune was banking on that.

The sight of a knight, clad in shining plate, pauldron, and gauntlet, pure white cape and longcoat billowing in the wind evoked memories. Flaring his aura so powerfully he was glowing, Jaune Arc thrust his gleaming white sword in the sky, raised in defiance of destiny.

Miltiades stared at the scene in shock. His cape was flowing even without wind.

One by one, eyes widened as the crowd put the pieces together. Whether they were Valean or not, Faunus or Human, Male or Female, everyone knew this image.

Julius Arc's pose. The same image prestigious Beacon's vaunted statue displayed.

Jaune shone like the moon, like a star, like a lighthouse, like a signal, _like a beacon._

When Jaune's eyes opened, they were filled with uncharacteristic fury.

Throat enhanced with the touch of aura, Jaune turned to the left and bellowed out words, voice impossibly deep, speech impossibly loud, both strong enough to shake the world.

"BROTHERS AND SISTERS OF THE WHITE FANG!"

The voice came over them like a storm, and the assembled faunus flinched. Most of them recognized him even without his mask. Recognized him as the _Commander_ who led them faithfully from Vale. Recognized him as the _Leader_ who saved them from the Paladin he now rode as his own.

 _None would deny brotherhood with him, for blood spilled in defense of your comrades were thicker than the water of the womb._

From the corner of his eye, he could spot Kaz remove his sunglasses in awe, his mouth repeating some set of words over and over again.

That was a good thing right? Turning to the right, addressing the Atlesians, he spoke again.

"SOLDIERS OF ATLAS!"

Human eyes, bereft of nightvision, latched onto his bright form like a man dying of thirst would a skin of water. Atlesian fighting men and women gasped as they saw his features, as human as the rest of them, and yet someone that the Fang acknowledged as kin, as a leader.

Gaston looked up, eyes wide, his usually dour expression colored pale with shock.

Next Jaune spoke, not with thunder, but in the same hushed tones a father would grieve over a child.

Jaune lowered the blade and reached out his hand to the crowd, beseeching them.

"HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN WHO YOU ARE?"

All eyes were glued onto his brilliant form. Jaune thanked the stars that even the Grimm were mesmerized.

"YOU ARE THE WHITE FANG!" his hopeful voice spoke, "THE SHIELD FOR THOSE WITHOUT, THE GUARDIANS AND DEFENDERS OF THE WEAK!"

He deliberately replaced the word "faunus" with "weak".

"AND NOW," his voice turned derisive, "YOU HAVE FORGOTTEN YOUR PURPOSE. YOU HAVE FORSAKEN THE INNOCENT, AND HAVE LEFT THE WEAK TO DIE!"

Faunus eyes slowly turned back to the laborers they came to rescue. Sure enough, some were trampled in the chaos, some too were caught in the crossfire, and some too were forgotten and left to the mercies of the Grimm. Jaune could spot a faunus release the soldier he held in a headlock.

"YOU ARE THE ATLESIAN ARMY!" his hopeful voice spoke again, "UNMATCHED IN COURAGE AND DISCIPLINE. REMNANT'S GREATEST FIGHTING MEN AND WOMEN, REMNANT'S FINEST SOLDIERS!"

At the mention of "soldiers", backs had unconsciously began straightening up. Hard-earned discipline reasserting itself among these warriors.

"AND NOW," once again did his voice become mocking, "YOU HAVE BROKEN. YOUR KNEES TREMBLE, YOUR TEETH CHATTER. YOU'RE REMNANT'S FINEST?"

The Goliath rose to its feet, bloodied, bones jutting out of its body. Releasing an unholy roar, it unleashed one last desperate charge at the Pennydin, shaking the ground and causing onlookers to fall with every step.

Humans and faunus alike cried out in alarm, but the Pennydin simply stood still, content to wait for its foe.

"IF YOU HAVE FORGOTTEN"

 _Crash!_

The final glyph, the glyph encircling the Paladin's right arm activated.

Moving a single step, Penny drove the gigantic fist into the Goliath's mouth as it roared, crushing teeth and breaking bone.

Penny's bright smile never wavered as she shifted the fist back to the energy cannon, the Goliath's jaw dislocating as the arm transformed to a much wider cannon in its mouth.

"Thank you," she whispered, grinning "For a wonderful time."

"THEN LET ME REMIND YOU."

Jaune raised his sword in the air with both hands and flared his aura.

Thunder roared as the overcharged cannon blew up the Goliath's head like an overripe watermelon; gore and offal and blood and ichor raining upon the crowd like a baptism.

Like a puppet with its strings cut, the headless Goliath slumped down, and the lesser Grimm began shrieking and howling.

"WE ARE THE FLAME!"

Words were contagious, whether they came from the mouth of a hero, or the smoking barrel of a gun. The assembled roared with a forgotten fury, fists and blades punched high into the heavens.

"Friend Jaune," Penny tugged on his leg, "I have an idea!"

As soon as they emerged from the glyphs and entered this quadrant, she had felt, _heard_ , something calling out to her from the Paladin's short-range communications. Now that they were able to calm down a little, she could finally figure out what they were.

They were signals.

Signals from fallen robots and other pieces of equipment.

She had, for quite some time, known that the Paladin possessed short to mid ranged communications equipment, primarily for disseminating information to squads, and also to serve as a relay for Atlesian Command to manage its automated forces.

What if she could be the source?

Unlike the last area, there were plenty of automated turrets and emplacements stationed around after all...

She closed her eyes and spread her will, pouring out her aura into the Paladin's comms, _into waves of signal_ , experiencing the impulses traveling along metal and dust cords and wires and waves as if they were her own nerves.

As the Goliath fell, Beowolves and Ursae roared, and Nevermore screeched, broken out of their shock by the death of their leader. Circling, charging and flying, converging on the Paladin like flies on meat, Atlesian and White Fang alike let out distressed cries as the Grimm charged their erstwhile leader.

"AND THE DARKNESS FEARS US!"

The Grimm were ripped apart, shredded by inhumanly accurate pinpoint gunfire before they could even touch Jaune's shining form.

As the Grimm leaped, claws, talons and fangs brandished, various turrets, defenses and emplacements, all automated and thought lost spun to meet them, moving on their own as if they were guided by their wielders' vengeful ghosts as loud cries and cheers erupted from human and faunus alike.

The loud, incoherent cheering eventually coalesced into four words, reverberating through the mountains, relentless as a storm.

"WE ARE THE FLAME!"

Miltiades's head snapped to her sister, mouthing the words "what the fuck" repeatedly.

Nevermore flying high in the sky were cut down by precise anti-air fire from emplacements still wet with their wielders' blood. Security cameras began blinking and moving left and right. Automated missiles, primed but not fired, were finally launched into the black tides, setting them alight.

More of the Grimm had roared, turning to face the Paladin, only to be cut down by disciplined and organized fire from behind.

"WE ARE THE FLAME!" echoed Fang and Atlesian alike, pouring dust round after dust round into the Grimm. They were packed so thick, a blind man could pick a direction and fire, and still manage to hit one of the beasts.

Jaune resisted the urge to pump a fist in the air. The Fang and Atlesians stood side by side, shoulder to shoulder, forming a thin white line between the airships and the Grimm.

 _This was how it should be._

Still, that was only one problem solved. They were sending bullets wildly and madly, lest the incoming Grimm overwhelm them, and more poured in from the breach in the wall they had sent the Goliath in.

Their goal was never to exterminate the Grimm, however.

Raising his index finger to his ear, Jaune was pleased to find their communications finally working.

" – einforce the left flank!" came Kaz's voice, "Bring in whatever reserves we have, and give guns to anyone who can still fight!"

"Kaz, report!" Jaune's voice cut through the white noise like a dagger.

"Boss – _I mean, Jaune!_ " Kaz hurriedly responded, "The Grimm are pouring in, and we cannot hold for long!"

"We're not planning to hold for long," Jaune responded, balance steady even as _the Pennydin stomped_ at the horde left and right, "Just enough to get everyone to the ships!"

"What about the guards and soldiers?"

"Bring them too," Jaune declared, "And when they're on, make sure they know we're not going to hurt them."

"Are you – " Kaz seemed to protest before conceding, "Yes, sir."

As soon as they had spoken, newer, fresher waves of Grimm had begun pouring in from the breach. The Grimm charged forth recklessly, trampling their wounded allies and running into disciplined gunfire, but still, they charged, threatening to close in with the defenders.

The incoming wave of Grimm would've overwhelmed the beleaguered defenders had not a white meteor fallen on the darkness.

"HOLD THE LINE!" Jaune Arc declared, sword raised from atop his mech, positioned in front of the Fangs and Atlesians, ready to blunt any charge.

Another wave of Grimm had formed, Beowolves and Ursae throwing themselves to the blazing gunfire of humanity and faunus assembled. Atlesians fired white energy from their rifles, the Fangs had pumped the Grimm full of lead; Penny curled her index finger as if pulling a trigger, and all the west's automated weaponry let loose a torrent of dust and steel.

From high above, steely-grey Fang bullheads glinted in the low light, adding their own cannons to the fray. Flying close, they released barrels of dust, makeshift bombs into the thickest ranks of the Grimm.

"AS LONG AS THERE ARE STILL STARS IN THE SKY," Jaune raised a clenched fist up high, "WE WILL FIGHT!"

"WE ARE THE FLAME!"

Another wave charged forth from the darkness, and Penny clenched her hand into a fist.

The Grimm charge was forestalled as cold, metal hands clenched their legs and cold metal robot bodies began rising from the snow.

Like a legion of the undead, broken Atlesian Knights began crawling up to their feet and knees, visors glowing with eldritch green light. Broken arms and hands began grabbing and tripping Grimm down. Robots, broken, began operating through their limits as Penny's aura began flowing through them like freshwater.

"AS LONG AS THE MOON STILL SHINES," Jaune brandished his sword, "WE WILL FIGHT!"

"WE ARE THE FLAME!"

Gryphons nimbly dodged or ignored the high caliber fire from the anti-air emplacements, and with deafening screeches, ripped the turrets out from the ground.

Penny gasped as she felt pain jolt through her body. Eyes wide, she tried to clench the fingers on her left hand, only for her to remember that she never quite had a left arm.

Anti-air fire halting for a brief few seconds, Nevermore took the chance and swooped in, aiming for the shining white figure standing on the mech.

Before Nevermore talons could rip Jaune apart, however, the Nevermore themselves were ripped apart by red and white flashes almost too fast to see. The assembled fighters roared their approval at the display from their seemingly untouchable commander.

Melanie simply chuckled in amusement as Miltiades panted in exasperation.

"Sir," came Gaston's subdued, commanding tones, "Boarding is halfway through."

 _Almost there,_ Jaune thought.

"AS LONG AS WE DRAW BREATH," Jaune boomed, "WE WILL FIGHT!"

"WE ARE THE FLAME!" the soldiers and faunus shouted again.

"WE WILL STRUGGLE!" Jaune's voice ordered.

"WE ARE THE FLAME!" they shouted, louder than before, harder than before!

"WE WILL SURVIVE!" Jaune demanded loyalty and steel.

"WE ARE THE FLAME!" came their unwavering and doubtless response.

"WE WILL WIN!" Jaune's voice overpowered the boom of gunfire.

" _WE ARE THE FLAME!"_ they shouted, voices overpowering Jaune's.

Jaune threw both arms into the sky.

"LET THE GRIMM COME!"

Countless voices screamed their throats hoarse, their spirits soaring.

"LET THEM DIE."

The booming of guns, each pounding like a drum, like beating hearts, was the response.

Jaune took a quick glance at the time. _Perfect._

"WE ARE THE DAWN!"

Upon his words, the first pristine golden rays of sunlight began peering out from the horizon.

"Extraction 90% done, Jaune!" rang Kaz's voice in his ear.

The sunlight rose in the east, painting the distant mountains gold. Tired soldiers and tired faunus basked in the sight, fighting as if they were born anew.

 _This was it. They had won!_

Still standing tall, Jaune resisted the urge to fall on his butt. The Grimm charges were waning, the intervals between each wave lengthening.

 _They had won._

When he was sure no one was looking, Jaune let out a long, tension-relieving breath.

 _They had won, right?_

As the warm sunlight engulfed the snowfields, everyone burst into cheers as the jet-black Grimm bodies dissolved into smoke.

There were barely any Grimm left in the field, those that did, fell back with a self-preservation uncommon to their race.

They cheer. They cheer for him. They cheer for the Fang. They cheer for Atlas. Most importantly, they cheer for themselves.

White Fang masks turn to Atlesian helms, eyes hidden, but mouths twisted into smiles and grins. They mutter congratulations and compliments to one another, tensions and hate momentarily forgotten. A faunus man slaps the back of an Atlesian soldier, both of them laughing. In the distance, an Atlesian medic ties bandages to a writhing Fang, at the same time Fangs cautiously carry a wounded Atlesian to the airship. Young faunus warriors mingle with old, mighty Atlesian veterans, and to the side, Jaune could spot an Atlesian soldier attempt to hit on an attractive faunus woman.

 _It was over, right?_

The tingling in Jaune's palms had disagreed.

A slow rumbling from the southeast made itself known, silencing the cheers little by little.

Jaune knew this rumble.

Solemnly, slowly, surely, massive feet trudged forward, leisurely entering through the breach in the walls. The sunlight revealing its horrible form.

A terrible form Jaune had become acquainted with.

The form of a Goliath.

 _Shit._

The crowd had gone silent, and the rumbling did not stop.

 _Shit shit shit shit shit._

Another massive form entered through the breach, accompanied by the footfalls of yet another wave of Beowolves and Ursae.

 _Damn it._

Gryphons and Nevermore threw themselves at the automated turrets and emplacements, rendering them worthless.

Below him, Penny flinched.

 _Fuck._

The walls opposite the breach were blown apart, revealing the glaring mask of another Goliath.

 _No._

Grimm began seeping in from the breaches. Bereft of resistance, Nevermore and Gryphon alike flew dangerously low, forcing the bullheads back. The Goliaths seemed to pick up speed at the sight of him.

 _No, no, goddammit, no._

"Jaune!" Kaz's panicked voice rang in his head, "Extraction at 98%, get the fuck out of there!"

Time seemed to slow down again for Jaune.

The Grimm had advanced at them from all directions now. Atop the Paladin, he could quickly retreat back to the airships, but the remaining Fangs and Soldiers still on the battlefield wouldn't make it. Even if they all made a break for it, each of them moving under suppressive fire, they would still be caught and overwhelmed in short order.

In the end, there really was only one thing to do.

"BACK!" Jaune called out, "Back to the airships!"

The soldiers scrambled to comply, but Jaune did not follow them. Some of them looked back, bewildered by the absence of the mech at their sides, and released horrified gasps when they had seen where it had gone.

Rather than retreat, the Paladin charged forward, ready to meet the horde.

"Jaune!" panicked Kaz.

"Go!" he requested, _no, ordered_ , "I'll hold them off!"

It really was the only thing to do.

In the end, the Paladin was a machine, a tool, something that could be replaced. This particular tool as well happened to be the only thing still controlling whatever emplacements remained, keeping the airborne Grimm off the airships and bullheads. This particular tool also had the same brute strength and durability to hold off the Grimm long enough for all of the humans and faunus to escape.

But, this particular tool also held Penny, and Penny was not a tool.

Penny needed to remain attached to the Paladin to operate it and its command over the machines. She couldn't leave, and Jaune wouldn't abandon her.

He'd die before he abandoned any of his friends. Unfortunately, it looked like that decision was rapidly approaching.

The Paladin charged forth, stampeding the smaller Grimm, going straight for their vanguard Goliath, but for all the Paladin's speed, it had nowhere near the bulk of the Goliath, and the mech was sent tumbling back.

"Jaune, we're good!" called Kaz desperately, "Get over here!"

Jaune turned back to the airships. Nevermore and Gryphon were encircling them, attempting to get close, only held back by bursts of fire coming from Penny's controlled turrets. Jaune would not abandon the Paladin and escape, nor would he move the Paladin there and lose the only covering fire they had. Besides, a pair of Goliaths had rushed to his back, cutting him off from the airships, so even if he wanted to, that wasn't even an option.

"No," came Jaune's calm voice.

The calmness in his tone surprised him. He'd expected his voice to crack in fear by now, yet the same fatalistic ice had found its way in his veins again. If death was imminent, but struggling gave him and the others the best chance, then struggle he would.

"No," came Jaune's voice again, "I'll hold off the fliers and find my own way back."

With a heave of effort, a large Nevermore had broken another precious emplacement, silencing the drumming of the guns a little more.

Kaz's voice hesitated, and he asked, "Are you sure?"

"I am," replied Jaune, no doubt, no preamble.

Jaune could hear Kaz's voice hesitate again, before a tiny whisper came from the speakers.

"Thank you."

Jaune waved it off, as the airships shut themselves closed, and lifted off from the ground. Nevermore and Gryphons beat their wings harder, attempting to reach it, but dogged gunfire from the turrets, the bullheads, and the machine guns on the Paladin beat them off. The airships rose quickly, buffeting Jaune's face with strong winds as the large ships disappeared among the early morning clouds.

 _Welp._ That was done.

Penny's unholy wide eyes looked up at Jaune, not understanding what just happened.

Jaune simply smiled serenely, and pat her on the head.

If it was just his own life, he would've been okay with dying, but it wasn't just his life, right? Now he had to ensure they survived.

Delicate twin hands landed on both his shoulders.

"Like, what's the plan?" inquired Melanie, her verbal tic returning.

Oh yeah, right, their lives too. Of course.

"I, like, get the feeling you forgot about us." grumbled Miltia.

"Of couse not," Jaune denied vehemently, holding on to the Paladin as Penny sidestepped a rampaging Goliath.

Alone, the Paladin could leverage its superior speed and escape. The problem was getting out with sufficient energy reserves to get to civilization. Actually, wait, now that he thought about it, large numbers of Atlesian soldiers were lost or killed in the invasion, so perhaps there were ships or something not under use. Perhaps he could _borrow_ some transportation...

"Penny," he looked in between his legs, "What do you remember of the base's layout?"

* * *

Keppel Azure Miller leaned on the walls of the airship bridge, disbelief still written across his face.

He wasn't the only one.

Just minutes ago, they were on top of the world, and minutes after, the last thing they saw was their leader's bright form being consumed by darkness.

Once the news had spread, the incessant chattering of the laborers had ceased, giving way to uneasy silence. Even the Fangs, some of them experienced veterans, looked shell-shocked, sullen, and unfocused. Ironically, it was the Atlesian Soldiers they had inadvertently rescued that were keeping them afloat, their training, experience and discipline allowing them to recover quicker.

A grim smile spread across Kaz's face. Had he been thinking straight, he would've kept the Atlesians held under gunpoint, lest they overrun the Fang presence on the airship, yet he hadn't done so, and the Atlesians didn't betray them.

Kaz turned up, and beheld the view right outside the airship.

The sunrise was brilliant, giving way to a brilliant azure blue, the mountain weather clear and relaxing for a change, as the airship flew in a sea of clouds.

They reminded him of Jaune's eyes.

Kaz put his sunglasses on.

He could still feel it.

Little over an hour ago, the Grimm had been spotted by a screening force, and they had rushed to fortified positions to attempt a defense, but the beasts were simply too numerous for them. Inch by inch, man by man, they eventually gave ground and suffered attrition. Just when he thought things couldn't get worse, the Atlesians suddenly appeared, just as dazed and confused as they were.

Kaz had half a mind to just make a break for it and get the airships in the sky.

Then _he_ came, on a never before seen battlesuit and the power to control machines. It had to have been him, and just like a storm, he had turned the tides of the battle against the Grimm. Kaz's heart beat faster just remembering the scene, with a few words, Atlesian and Faunus had rallied together, casting aside hate and ideology and race and discrimination to drive the darkness back.

It was the most incredible thing he had ever seen.

A legendary warrior, of a heroic bloodline, capable of providing leadership so inspiring he could melt away pent-up grudges in minutes. Riding atop a veritable throne, he commanded the loyalty of men and women, human and faunus, Valean, Atlesian, Mistralian and Vacuoan, heedless of ideology and belief.

He was a King.

He was a Leader.

" _Big Boss_ ," Kaz whispered.

 _This, this was the future, wasn't it?_

Everyone banding against the Grimm, fighting for the future, stripped of race and belief, just fighting as one.

 _That was the future._

And Kaz abandoned him, abandoned the future.

A thunderous crash reverberated through the corridors of the airship and shook the bridge.

"Report!" Kaz's finger went to his ear immediately, instinctually.

"Sir," came Gaston's clipped tones, "We're under fire."

 _Fire?_

"Is it the Grimm?" Kaz inquired, rising to his feet.

Before Gaston could respond, one of the Redwing Fang members pulled up a display on the screens.

Kaz's eyes widened. A sleek silver ship, with protrusions on its back reminiscent of wings or fins flew gracefully behind them, cutting through the air as its cannons smoked. He knew that design.

They were under attack by –

* * *

Winter Schnee spoke, "Fire."

The Atlesian Airship, a veritable sword cutting through the clouds like a bird of prey, crewed by survivors of her men, hastened to comply.

With a mighty burst, the ship's cannons sent blood-red lances of dust energy crashing on the White Fang transport, causing explosions to break out on the transport's rear.

Winter scoffed. The large distance between them and their target caused the shots to weaken. That, and the fact that they had shut off every system, every program, every instrument that could be replaced by human hands.

She crossed her legs on her thronelike seat. Jaune Arc was on that derelict transport, and if they threatened it, he'd counter by hacking her ship's systems. It was one thing that she'd allowed him to steal _his_ research, and the Paladin prototype General Ironwood had given to her, but it was another thing to allow him to get his grubby paws on a military-grade Atlesian Airship.

The lack of tools and instruments delayed it, but no matter, the transport was taking heavy damage, very soon, it'd fall.

"Commander!" one of her soldiers had hailed, "We're receiving calls from the Fang transport. They're identifying themselves as our comrades, and ask for the attack to cease!"

Winter resisted the urge to roll her eyes. _That was the best Arc could come up with?_

"It's a trick," she declared, "Prepare to fire again!"

An ensign by her side, likely a fresh graduate from the Academy hesitated before daring to speak, "Commander Schnee, the Fang transport, if our intelligence is correct, contains nothing but faunus laborers. Can we not attempt to capture them instead?"

"Fat chance," The Captain remarked, "The Fang would sooner ram us than even consider surrender."

"The Captain is correct," Winter closed her eyes, "And should the White Fang succeed, they would recruit those faunus within their ranks and expand their violence."

That was part of the answer.

Winter opened her eyes, and they shone cold.

Jaune Arc was on that transport, and he carried with him _his_ research. She had seen firsthand how the Arc Traitor had used the research to usurp control over Atlesian military technology, and how he was able to make use of it to deadly effect. If he had been able to use it on a prototype she hadn't even known had existed weeks ago, he would be able to use it to control any piece of Atlesian machinery, from mining equipment to its robot armies.

 _She could not allow Jaune Arc to deliver that kind of unlimited power to the Arc Traitors and the White Fang._

If he was capable of such potential destruction, then how much more dangerous was this power in the hands of the likes of Adam Taurus? How much damage would be done by giving the largest army in Remnant to that murderous psychopath?

If that fell to his hands, it was inevitable that the White Fang would seize control of their armies and throw Remnant into a bloody war. White Fang numbers would double overnight. Thousands, _no_ , millions would die.

She could not allow that to happen.

She could not allow such death and destruction to happen, even if she had to ring the death knells the two thousand laborers fleeing from her family's yoke.

She had to defend Remnant.

She had to defend Weiss.

If she had to kill Jaune Arc, _she would do so in a heartbeat._

If she had to kill thousands so millions would live, _then so be it._

With a heavy heart, she gave the order.

"Fire."

The red bolts flew from her ship's smoking cannons; the red contrasting starkly from the soothing, calming blue of the clouds.

 _So that's it then,_ she thought _, one ship, one thousand consigned to the grave, and one more ship to go._

But when the fire and smoke cleared, the Fang Transport itself was unharmed, and instead a white light glinted forth.

For an almost imperceptible moment, Winter's features widened in confusion before they narrowed in fury.

A familiar figure, shrouded in the dark smoke from her ship's energy cannon, emerged from the haze.

Complete with familiar white sword, shield, armor and cape, he stood on the cockpit of a familiar mech, which itself also stood on a _very_ familiar ship.

A very familiar ship with four wings, four ailerons threading and leaving lines through the sky, looking almost like a spearhead.

 _Her_ ship.

Her _smaller, faster_ ship.

Her custom made specialist's ship that General Ironwood gave her clearance to commission.

The ship she was forced to abandon because all the survivors she could find had already banded up in another vessel.

Jaune Arc, his surroundings still smoking from the energy cannon, arms crossed, and weapons sheathed, looked directly at the bridge of her airship.

Winter didn't flinch, and met his gaze. He could see her from all the way over there? She had used him as a diversion to escape from the Goliath once she'd been assured of its defeat, she owed him at least a little respect.

Not breaking eye contact, Jaune mouthed the words, "Smoking hot."

Winter swore under her breath.

If she still needed proof of his ability to hack and control machines, this was it. If he chose to escape, her large, cumbersome airship couldn't hope to overtake the smaller airship.

Or could he?

His _... Her ship_ dashed in front of the Fang Transport and had taken the powerful cannon barrage. She'd known the specs of her chosen airship, and she knew it was built for speed, not for taking on battleships. Indeed, the ship Jaune stole, rather than fly smoothly, lurched unevenly, black smoke seeping out.

The ship's speed definitely had to have taken a hit.

Winter smirked, the corners of her mouth twisting sharply. _She had him now._

Plastering a cocky grin on his face, surrounded by the smoke, Jaune Arc opened his mouth, the beginnings of another lame pickup line on his tongue.

However, the unbalanced lurching and turning of the ship had but an unexpected consequence.

The lurching of the ship, coupled with his _uneasiness_ over heights and motion sickness finally overwhelmed Jaune's inner fortitude, causing him to throw up, and empty the contents of his stomach into the air.

The vomit turned projectile, its velocity pushed on by the speed of the ship, and splattered all over Winter's pristine bridge windshield, painting chunky orange and green shapes on the pure white material.

* * *

Winter Schnee released a deafeningly loud, furiously angry cry echoing in the air. Jaune could hear it all the way standing atop the Paladin, standing atop this _really nice ship_ he found in the camp.

It was a really nice ship. It had nice kitchens and even a bathtub in one of the fancier cabins, and it flew smoother than any other airship Jaune had ridden.

He had found ID's and papers detailing that the ship was named "The Winds of Winter".

Jaune frowned. It was an impressive name, but somehow it struck Jaune as something that just wouldn't arrive on time.

Jaune had chosen to rename it "White Lightning".

"Yeah, alright," Jaune whispered into the comms, "She's after us. Move, move move!"

"Aye, aye, captain!" crackled Penny's bubbly voice from the speakers.

They'd moved Penny from the Paladin to the Airship bridge, where she'd promptly let down her wires and assumed control. Apparently, the ship was made to cater to some Atlesian bigwig officer, and so the ship was capable of commanding Atlesian machinery, the Paladin included, from afar.

The Lightning had peeled off from the two White Fang Airships and their bullhead escort, and Winter Schnee's ship had specifically followed _them_ , ignoring the White Fang's slower, larger ships as they lumbered away. Jaune winced, Miltia was right to convince him to ride the Paladin on top of the airship instead of relax in the warmth of the bridge. The Schnee really _was_ obsessed with him.

Still, it meant they could draw attention away from the transports.

"Wow, Jaune," commented Melanie, "She must, like, really like you."

Melanie lounged in the bridge, carrying Penny in her arms, as Miltiades was bent over a toilet somewhere, apparently possessing the same motion sickness as he.

"Well, I wish she'd like me a little less," replied Jaune, holding his guts in.

The gargantuan Atlesian warship chased after the smaller Lightning as they attempted to flee, sending malice-ridden scarlet energy bolts after them with abandon.

They couldn't put the Lightning at its maximum speed for two reasons. One, once again, they were serving as bait for the rest of his allies. Left and right, the Lightning swerved, dodging the menacing red beams from Winter's cannons. They were dodging each shot cleanly, but it wouldn't last forever. Sooner or later, Winter's cannons would get lucky, and slowly, little by little, Winter's airship was gaining on them.

Still, that was pretty bad shooting. Did they turn their tools off or something?

Jaune could hear incoherent screaming coming from the enemy airship's bridge.

The second reason was that the earlier shot they had taken for the Fang Transport had already damaged and crippled the Lightning. It was a miracle, or maybe it was because of Penny, that the Lightning hadn't already burst into flames. Still according to Penny's predictions, the damage and the strain to the engine, or engines, Jaune wasn't sure, would eventually cause them to crash.

If they were to escape, they had to fight back!

"C'mon, Penny," Jaune brandished his blade, "Now's our chance! Fire!"

"Friend Jaune?"

"Yes, Penny?"

"The Lightning possesses no weapons."

 _Damn._

"Ah, you sure about that? Anything we can throw at them?"

"Positive. Although, there appears to be something I can detach and throw at them. Shall I attempt to do so, friend?"

"Do it."

A beat passed before a compartment oddly shaped like a tank was detached from the Lightning's rear, the velocity sending it hurtling right towards the vomit-covered bridge of the warship.

With a high-pitched clang of metal striking metal, the detached compartment burst open, covering the much-abused glass with a foul smelling brown, green, and yellow sludge.

"Ah," mused Jaune as the smell of days-old shit, piss and God knows what else splattered on the warship. They'd thrown the septic tank at them.

Winter screamed again, in timing with the roar of her cannons.

 _Wait a minute,_ Jaune realized, _The Lightning did have a cannon on it._

"Penny, bring us closer!" called out Jaune.

"Like, why, you gonna hit it with your sword?" mused Melanie.

"I got an idea!" grinned Jaune, and he whispered into the comms.

Winter grit her teeth again as the tiny ship evaded another salvo of dustfire. The tiny ship had been evading them right and left, moving just a tad too fast for its large cannons to track.

"Faster," she commanded, and the enraged Captain barked out orders to comply.

The huge airship was flying extremely fast now, dashing forward like an arrow. Winter's lips twitched upwards, the Arc's ship just stayed dead ahead, losing ground, well, airspace little by little. Not to mention they had a bead on him, they had a clear shot!

"Fire!" Winter exclaimed.

Right before the red bolts left the barrels of the cannons, Winter's eyes went wide.

The small ship slowed down suddenly, flying right in front of her own ship's bridge!

At the same time the Paladin's torso spun until she was face to face with Jaune Arc, and he was _smiling_.

Winter's eyes next snapped to the glowing energy cannon of the Paladin. _He was going to fire at the bridge._

Winter gasped, he was going for a simultaneous strike! Was he planning to kill them all at the cost of his life?! Could the Paladin's cannon pierce through the hull?!

"Jaune Arc!" she screamed out, fury lacing her every word.

"Winter Schnee!" he shouted back, equally furious.

"JAUNE ARC!" she screamed out! Even if he fired at her point blank, she would _survive! She had to!_

"WINTER SCHNEE!" he screamed.

"AAAAAAAARRRRRCCCCCCC!" she howled, her fearsome expression highlighted red by the glow of her cannons.

"Evasive action!" barked out the Atlesian Captain, and the huge ship swung away.

Rather than shout back, however, Jaune Arc grinned widely.

"Penny," he called, "Ride the Lightning!"

"Aye, aye!" crackled Penny, and the Lightning _dove,_ dodging the red bolts cleanly, and leaving behind glowing white trails in the sky.

Winter's mouth went wide. Even Atlesian AI wasn't that precise, how the hell was he controlling the ship?!

Slowing down, the Lightning allowed Winter's warship to overtake it, and soon it found itself hovering behind the colossal vessel, right where its thrusters and wings were.

Jaune whispered into the air as the Paladin trained its guns upwards, ready to clip the Atlesian Warship's wings.

"Ferrum Mors."

Iron Death. This Paladin, this weapon, truly had served him well. It only felt fitting to christen it as a true Arc weapon.

"Gotcha."

The Paladin fired its last vestiges of energy into the ship's right wings and thrusters, causing a chain of explosions to rumble across the warship's sleek figure. Not enough to have it crash down on the ground, but enough to rob it of its flight and send it falling to the ground slowly.

With a mighty groan, the warship leaned to its right, and nosedived for the ground, falling to the clouds below.

Well, relatively slowly.

Hey, at least they would survive.

Winter Schnee looked up, glaring at his form, his cape fluttering across the sunlit clouds like gold.

 _She would pay him back for that humiliation._ She swore.

 _Someday._

 _Someday she would see him again. She just knew it._

Beneath shit, piss, and vomit-stained glass, Winter glared at Jaune, her eyes promising him pain.

"I'll see you soon, Jaune Arc."

Jaune, on the other hand, looked down, a strange expression, somehow encompassing both joyfulness, thankfulness and wistfulness on his face. Solemnly, his mouth opened to respond.

"Always knew you'd _fall_ for me, Snow Angel."

The smoking wreck of the warship descended, disappearing under the golden clouds below until there was nothing in the air to mark its passing.

Jaune beheld the vision in front of him. It was just him, the mech, the Twins, Penny, and the Lightning, adrift in an infinite sea of clouds, facing the clear golden sky of morning.

Jaune let out a deep breath, savoring the warm morning winds caressing his tired body. He'd never seen such a brilliant sight before, for the only thing he usually saw in airships were the insides of a vomit bag or a trash can.

He felt relieved, he felt happy, he felt... tired.

It was over. It was finally over.

They'd won.

"Where to, friend?" asked Penny.

Jaune looked to the sunrise.

"Home, Penny," He whispered, "Back to Vale."

Gently, Penny turned the airship towards the south, and the ship cruised in the air, back towards Vale, back towards _home._

A little smile crept up Jaune's face.

"Ride the Lightning, Penny."

As soon as he spoke those words, a small explosion rocked the ship and shattered his illusion of peace.

Oh, right, Winter shot a hole through the ship.

 _Motherfucker._

Jaune held on to Ferrum Mors for dear life as the machine lost its balance and spun to the ground below.

* * *

Hei Xiong Junior's blood ran cold, washing away the drowsiness in panic.

It was the dead of night, and someone had somehow gotten past his security, and knocked on the door of his most secure safehouse. Losing contact with the guards outside, Junior had expected the worst, and carried his club with him, holding it protectively.

 _It was now or never._

With a mighty kick, Junior opened the door, hoping to catch his assailants off guard.

The mighty dust-steel door slammed open, and with a thud, crashed into something, or _someone._

"Gah!" cried an effeminate voice.

Junior gaped, he knew who that voice belonged to.

"Jaune?"

"Yesh, ish be," muttered Jaune, clutching his nose tightly, a steady trickle of blood dripping from it.

Shit, the kid looked like he had been mugged. His pretty cape was gone, and so was his hoodie. Clad in his torn up pants, dirty boots, and armor, he looked like some sort of sex offender.

"What are you doing here, what are yo –" Junior's eyes darted around.

Clutching his shoulder and waist respectively, were the tired forms of Miltiades and Melanie Malachite, the two girls who were like sisters, _no, daughters to him._

Junior's first reaction was instant relief. _They'd been missing for a day but the girls were safe!_

Junior's second reaction was fear. Cold, numbing, bowel-clenching, fear.

Junior froze.

The biggest thing he noticed was that except for their weapons, his girls were _completely naked_ , desperately trying to cover up with single pieces of clothing. Melanie was shivering into a _very familiar_ white cloak, while Miltia was pulling down a _very familiar_ black hoodie down to cover her legs.

Junior blinked, uncomprehending.

Both girls' hair was mussed up, _like someone had run hands through them_. Their eyes were weary and sunken, _like they had just gone through a traumatic experience._ Their bodies were slick, glistening with sweat and grime as if they had just performed _strenuous physical activity_. Their fair skins were rife with marks that looked like something or _someone_ had bitten into it. The color of their skin was flushed red, covered in lines like someone had tried to attack them with a bladed weapon, _or a whip._ They smelled dirty, _musty,_ like they'd been sweating and doing _something_ the whole day.

Junior's eye twitched.

Miltiades was _limping._

They say that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, well, whoever they were, clearly hadn't met said woman's dad.

 _What did Jaune do to them?!_

"Salutations!" spoke Jaune's backpack.

Everyone could hear something snap.

Junior punched Jaune in the face.

* * *

 **Chapter 9 End... But wait...**

* * *

Eyelids slowly fluttered open, revealing deep green machine eyes to the world.

Something was strange. She did not remember this strange, cold, white, Atlesian laboratory with all of its large and complicated machinery. No, she remembered two girls, both of them with eyes green like what she had seen in pictures of the sea, and a gruff middle-aged man, with a beard that reminded her of a bear.

And a boy with hair as gold as enduring hope, and eyes as blue as the azure sky.

And darkness. Red-eyed darkness. Red eyed, feathered, furred, clawed, screeching darkness, and fire, and –

"Penny," a kindly old voice called, "How are you feeling?"

Penny Polendina blinked, and strained her head at the sound. She knew this sound just as she knew his appearance.

Sure enough, just as she rose from what she considered her bed, there by the door stood her father.

"Father!" Penny exulted.

Her father simply smiled that warm smile, and sat by her bedside.

"Your aura spiked sometime in the night," he softly spoke, "Are you nervous?"

Penny simply looked at him, confused.

"The Vytal Festival is right around the corner after all. It's natural for contestants to be nervous before a big fight." He continued.

"Nervous," Penny spoke, "Thank you for your concern, father, but I do not believe I am nervous. Rather, I would like to ask you a question."

Her father raised an eyebrow. It was not often that Penny had questions she knew not the answer to. He motioned for her to continue.

Penny looked at him in the eye, her green eyes wide and earnest.

"What does it feel like to dream?"

* * *

 **Chapter 9 End.**

 **Alea Iacta Est.**


	11. Chapter 10: Destiny

Jaune Arc looked around the battlefield, his once bright eyes, the same color of peaceful skies, now clouded and dimmed.

Bodies were strewn about, blood still fresh and congealing, painting the verdant Valean grasslands a dull red. In the distance, he could spot smoke, rising from the ruins of Beacon and the Council Spire. What were once symbols of hope and order twisted into monuments to despair and chaos.

Jaune supposed it was fitting, in a way.

Faunus died by the droves, dying like the dogs they were accused of being, and humans died just as messily alongside them. There was no ideology nor belief in the touch of cold, sharp steel, and burning gunfire. There was no Vale, no Mistral, no Atlas, no Vacuo, no rich, no poor, no dreams, and no hope here.

Lying broken in the mud, all were equal in death.

 _How could this have happened?_ A tear might have slid down Jaune's cheek had he not been already numb with pain.

Upon assuming control of Vale, Jaune had immediately begun work on mending human-faunus relations. Jobs came first, and given the possibility of war, more and more hands were needed to man weapons, build fortifications, and produce firearms, so that issue was easily resolved for the time being. Short-term needs answered, Jaune pushed for the first steps to education reform and repealed anti-faunus legislation. Subtly, he began enforcing laws and rules that provided incentive for humans and faunus to socialize and mix.

Hell, he had even got stores to give discounts to humans accompanying faunus and vice versa.

Just when his hard work was finally bearing fruit, just when he could finally _see_ the peace, he had been caught off guard by a betrayal no one had anticipated.

Miltiades Malachite, the Bloody Empress, flanked by Atlesian storm troopers, strode forward, stopping a few steps in front of him.

Her full, glistening lips were spread in a wide grin.

"Miltia," Jaune croaked, "how could you?", his hands balled into fists, "I thought we were friends."

"Sorry, Jaune," Miltia cupped his right cheek with her left hand, as crimson claws extended from her right, "But, like, this game is mine."

Without a single flash of hesitation, she swiped her claw across her friend's neck.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO-"

* * *

-OOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" , Jaune slammed his face onto the table in frustration.

 _He'd been fucking played again!_

"So ends the reign of King Jaune," Miltia sneered, as she dropped _another_ fucking battalion of Atlesians into his ruined Kingdom. Apparently not satisfied with casually betraying his Vale and making a complete mockery of his armed forces, Miltia deigned to send more men in to salt the earth and piss on the ruins.

"Alas, poor King Jaune!", cried Melanie Malachite as she dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, "We, like, hardly ever knew ye!"

"We shall avenge you Friend Jaune!" chirped in Penny, duct taped to her chair so she could reach the table. Remnant: The Game only had room for four, and she and Melanie teamed up so every member of the … uhh, safehousehold could play.

It had been little more than a week since the operation at Camp Omega. Little more than a week since he had ensured the safety of the rescued laborers at the hands of Keppel Azure Miller, some weirdo White Fang mid-boss who wore sunglasses over his mask. Little more than a week since he, the twins, and Penny crash-landed into the forests of Vale in an Atlesian airship and hitched a ride to Vale. Little more than a week since Hei Xiong Junior, after hearing about what they did, turned into a paranoid wreck and ushered them all in his best safe house, but not before beating the shit out of him for some reason.

Seriously, Jaune had no idea why Junior was so pissed at him that time. Based on the big man's ramblings, it had something to do with convincing the Twins to ditch the White Fang uniforms they were wearing to evade capture. What was up with that?

At the beginning, he'd been enamored with the idea of Junior having a secret complex of tunnels underground, some of which were even connected to abandoned train tunnels, but the novelty wore off because of one thing.

It was so _friggin'_ boring.

Not only was there no internet, there was also no signal either, and barely anything to do. Apparently, retreating to the safe houses was something of a family tradition the Malachites and Junior had, because they were keenly aware of this and had brought entertainment with them. For Junior, it was loading his scroll full of gory action movies, and for the twins, it was board games, and video games. Video games they kept to themselves.

It was there, behind those secret, soundproofed walls that Jaune Arc learned one carefully-guarded, steaming-hot, _intimate,_ super-sexysecret the twins kept close to their hearts.

"Gahahaha!" cackled Miltia as she systematically and sadistically decimated Junior's people with flocks of Nevermore, "You've been, like, _murdered!"_

 _The twins were absolute, freaking dorks._

With eyes bereft of life, Jaune turned to the Twins' de facto dad, and Junior looked back, seeming as if he wanted nothing more in life than to shoot himself. Jaune would've, but his aura would've also tanked the shot.

Little more than a week ago, if someone had told Jaune that he'd hate being trapped in a secret place with three beautiful girls whose ideas of nightwear ranged from "just a shirt and lacy underwear", and "bare naked", he'd have laughed in their face.

Oh, it was great at first, but then he realized that the twins also apparently liked to wear socks and rubber sandals at home. The bad kind you couldn't unsee. While the twins were definitely in the upper strata of Jaune's "hottest girls I've ever met", this… this was just… _what the fuck?_

 _What the hell kind of pajamas were that?!_ , thought Jaune, safe and snug in his bright blue onesie.

"Bare Naked" was Penny. They had to remove the ruined rags she wore eventually, and lo and behold, they crossed the uncanny valley so many times it wasn't even funny anymore. Where her face thankfully was covered in skin, her torso just… wasn't. Patches of different colored flesh, in varying stages of literal wear, tear, and rot, sharp, metal, rusting edges jutting out from the skin, veins still glowing with dust, nesting insects, cobwebs, and Penny's bubbly encouragement all contributed to convey a distinct feeling of utter wrongness.

Jaune shuddered. He hadn't been able to eat for a while after seeing spiders crawl out of Penny's mouth.

Eventually, Melanie strapped Penny in various fluffy blankets like a baby, and began carrying her around like a stuffed animal. That helped offset the creepy somehow. Fear must be fought with fluff.

With Junior eliminated and Jaune extinct, the only remaining players were the Miltian Atlas, and the Melapennic Diarchy of Vacuo. Melanie shifted in her seat, giving Jaune a generous view of her toned, glossy legs… and the cringe-worthy bright yellow ducky sandals _fuck._

Jaune slammed his face in the desk again. One of the ways they passed the time was to play board games and wager chores and various tasks on them. Jaune's recent loss would be yet another couple of hours lost washing dishes, cleaning the safe house and, ugh, cleaning the bathrooms. It wasn't like he had anything better to do, _but still..._

He didn't hate cleaning, but come on, he could leave the shower absolutely spotless, but Melanie would shower once, and somehow clog the drains with long, slimy, black hair. It was like that time the manor was renovated, and he and his seven sisters had to share one bathroom all over again.

Junior shared a look with Jaune, dark irises rife with unspoken, longsuffering pain. Jaune could empathize.

Jaune sighed. Within the span of two weeks, he had failed Beacon, stolen a horse, burned his house down, become an international terrorist, and probably got himself on the personal shitlist of one of the most powerful people in the world.

Jaune raised his eyes to heaven, or in this case, the ceiling, and muttered.

" _Hey, at least there's no possible way my life could get any worse."_

* * *

 **Arc of the Revolution**

 **Chapter 10**

 **Destiny**

* * *

The True White Fang envisions a world free of divides and discrimination, where all can live as equals. The True White Fang stands for truth and justice, and we will change Remnant, yet, nothing can be gained without offering something in return. Revolution requires martyrs, and _we_ require revolution! The Councils are rotten, and their peoples corrupt. With one hand, they call out for peace, and with the other, hold the whip. They must pay. We will have our vengeance, _we will have our justice._

We are the White Fang, _and we are going to change the world._

We require Justice, Justice requires Revolution, and Revolution requires blood, _and we will have blood, one way or another._

 **-Adam Taurus, the Black Beast.**

* * *

All the world's a stage, and all men and women merely players. You, the faunus, were given the roles of the oppressed, of revolutionaries, _of terrorists_. I, on the other hand, was born a human, and raised an Arc. For all our lives, we, the faunus, the humans, the huntsmen and the Council, have just been playing our parts, and the tragic thing is, most of us don't even know it, blindly obeying the flow. But not anymore! We are past that! We are no one's puppets, _we are no one's pawns_!

If destiny demands we just lay down and take it quietly, then with our swords, we will cut the strings of fate, and with our souls, we will light the path to a new future.

We are the New Fang, _and we are the Flame._

 **-Jaune Arc, the Pawn King.**

* * *

Argh, _men._

 **-Cinder Fall, Unofficial Tylenol Poster Girl**

* * *

"Specialist Winter Schnee."

Specialist Winter Schnee tried her best not to flinch at the calm, emotionless words. The Schnee Heiress was no stranger to intimidation, courtesy of her father and his associates, but this, this was entirely different.

Her father would speak with all the cold fury of an Atlesian winter if she showed even the slightest weakness, _even the slightest imperfection_. Enemies, whether they be huntsmen or terrorist, tried to project themselves as larger, as superior to try and strike fear into her. Most businessmen she had met burned with fiery indignation as she cut them harsh deals. The man sitting in front of her, however…

General James Ironwood was, as his name implied, rigid, emotionless – a machine.

His voice betrayed no frustration, and his body language, sitting ramrod straight on a high chair, elbows on a metal desk, attached to steepled hands, implied nothing.

Where her father's eyes would pierce, the general's eyes stared blankly. Winter had seen the general in combat before, _had seen the general tear apart Grimmflesh with his bare hands_ , and he wore the same expression then as he had now. Even as Winter gave her report, she didn't even see the general blink.

"Let me get this straight," Ironwood finally spoke, "An extremely competent White Fang operative, a completely unknown male member of the Arc Family at that, managed to steal the Paladin-290 prototype?"

Winter winced, "Yes."

Goddamned Arc. Everytime Winter heard that name, she remembered the indignities she had suffered at his warm hands. It wouldn't do to grimace in front of the general, so she had to settle with biting her lips so hard they nearly drew blood.

She'd take her revenge someday. She would pay him back a hundredfold. She imagined the Arc's mocking sky-blue eyes wide and begging for her mercy. She would shatter his armor and sword and rip his fancy cape to pieces. She would strip him bare and scourge his back until flesh came off clean from bone! _She could almost feel the splatter of his warm,_ warm, _blood on her face, SHE COULD TASTE IT ON HER LIPS AND-_

"And steal the failed P.E.N.N.Y project prototypes I sent you there to find?"

Winter was jarred back to reality, "Yes."

"And steal control of the base from you, using the Omega's automated defenses as his own?"

Winter twitched, "Yes."

"And steal your personal airship, equipped with the latest aviation technology currently known to Remnant?"

"Affirmative"

"And steal around an entire labor camp's worth of dust?"

"W-well, it wasn't there when I took a look at the stockpiles."

"And steal away two thousand faunus workers?"

"Yes, sir."

"And steal approximately a half of your task force, leaving them prisoners of the White Fang?"

"That is correct, sir."

"And steal your heart, followed shortly by your clothes?"

"Yes – wait, _what?"_ Winter sputtered.

Ironwood frowned a little. "So it appears there is truth in what some of the survivors say."

"Survivors?!", Winter exclaimed, heart pulsing with a mix of surprise, indignation, and relief. _She didn't lose more than half her men?! This was amazing, this was…_

"Yes, survivors", continued Ironwood, "Survivors who also say that you tried to gun them down as they begged for aid."

"Impossible!" Winter slammed a fist on Ironwood's desk, "Lies, and slander, I did no such thing!"

"Your ship's records beg to differ," Ironwood sighed, "We have also had the identities of those soldiers verified. They were truly members of your task force."

"I would never do such a thing, let alone to soldiers under my command!" Winter stiffened, ''A-and While the Arc tried to... to proposition me, I assure you sir that I am uncompromised!"

For a brief moment, a flicker of irritation had flashed in Ironwood's face. It was a tiny little twitch, just the slightest narrowing of his eyes and creasing of his brows.

Winter found it terrifying.

"Your cheeks flush red," Ironwood narrated, "Your heartbeat spikes, and your pupils dilate every time the word "Arc" is mentioned."

 _ARC!,_ Winter perked up, _She would grab him by his pretty hair and dunk him into-_

"Exactly," Ironwood grunted, "Just like that."

"We were taking about survivors?" Winter interrupted, very eager to change the topic.

"They arrived before you did," Ironwood pinched the bridge of his nose, "On a standard passenger flight from Vale."

"They escaped from the White Fang?!" Winter gasped.

Ironwood's eyes closed slowly. In these past few minutes, Winter had somehow triggered the most emotion the stoic general had shown in years.

"Apparently," he looked as if he had bit into something sour, "The White Fang let them go."

Winter blinked.

"Let them go?" she echoed, voice small.

"And paid for their airship tickets, apparently."

Had the General not been there, Winter would've torn out her hair in frustration.

"According to them," Ironwood continued, "And I quote, they only wanted to go back to get their stuff, or because they have family in Atlas, or because they wanted to resign right in your face."

Ironwood leaned forward fixing Winter with the most unnerving stare she had received in her life.

"They say that the rest of them defected, Schnee." Ironwood carefully pronounced each word, "Nearly half of your taskforce _defected_ to a radical, extremist, _terrorist_ organization that supposedly _hates_ them."

Winter's throat went dry.

Ironwood sagged in his chair, looking for once like the aging man he was than his usual persona as a Paragon of military excellence.

"At present, those men are detained, monitored, kept under tight gag orders, and will probably remain so until we found out what to do with them." Ironwood brought a palm over his face, "They either deny or refuse to divulge information on the White Fang. Still, for all that trouble, I suppose we should be thankful to _him._ "

"Thankful, sir?"

"This one man found and thoroughly exploited nearly every weakness in our defenses." The general's eyes hardened, "We had grown arrogant thanks to our combat droids and centralized AI command, and he had punished us for it. We believed that our cyber-warfare capabilities were unmatched and he hacked them in _minutes_."

Shortly after she returned to Headquarters, she'd been debriefed and informed that, no, the P. E. . Research she'd been sent to obtain was not a doomsday weapon capable of controlling machines. Seriously, the scientists laughed at her. Apparently, the research was an attempt to create an aura-generating machine.

Meaning the Arc had the capabilities to assume direct control at any time; he just wanted to fuck with her first, the bastard.

The implications were still terrifying, however. _Had 'he' decided to unleash his schemes on a bigger population center with a garrison of Atlesian Knights, say, any city in Atlesian borders, he could've slaughtered millions._ Rather that commit genocide, however, he uses that to strike an ultimately insignificant location, and instead of keeping that power secret, he just advertised it blatantly to an Atlesian Specialist of all people.

 _An Atlesian Specialist whom he spared._

 _What is he up to?!_

"I've already taken steps to ensure that this will never happen again." Ironwood declared, hands clenched into fists, "I've ordered our engineers to decentralize our AI command instead of centralizing them to a single command center. I've contacted the Valean, Mistralian, and Vacuoan Militaries as well as Beacon's, Haven's, and Shade's Headmasters."

The General met Winter's ice blue eyes with iron. "I've doubled the guards stationed in each CCT, and at least one huntsman is on patrol there at all times now."

Winter's spirits soared. Never again would this happen.

"What of Viola and Indigo Arc?" Inquired Winter. Not one, but two of Alexander Arc's daughters worked for Atlas's R&D Department, and must've been _'his'_ informants back in Camp Omega.

"We're still trying to get a positive ID on the Fang's new leader," Ironwood sighed.

"We don't have one yet?" Winter raised an eyebrow.

"We still have no idea how he looks like exactly. The survivors say he, and I quote, "Stands at over eight feet tall, wears a fuck-awesome white cape, and has a voice that rumbles like the storm." Ironwood shrugged, "I've sent men to scour Camp Omega for any camera footage, but nothing survived the Grimm, it seems. I believe you fought him personally, how would you describe him, Schnee?"

Pretty was the first word that came to mind. Winter shook her head.

"Blonde hair and blue eyes," Winter decided, "Young, elegant features. I'd say he was either in his late teens or his early 20's, it's difficult to say as his white cloak obscured much of his form."

"Blonde hair and blue eyes, but the Arcs are hardly the only people in Remnant with those features. What of his weapons?"

"Simple, sparsely decorated white sword and shield, but they don't seem to possess the lavish decorations, intricate mechanisms and mecha-shift transformations the Arc weapons are known for," Winter conceded, "Still, they looked familiar somehow."

Ironwood nodded, before speaking.

"It is indeed suspicious. The timing of this attack coincides with Viola Arc and Indigo Arc's sudden absence. They'd just arrived moments ago, and as a precaution, I've placed them under surveillance," Ironwood withdrew a set of folders from a drawer, "We need to keep this quiet. Not only are we possibly accusing a prestigious and well-connected Family, but we will also be revealing that one of our bases had just been overrun and destroyed."

"What of Ozpin?" Winter pressed, "Do we inform him of this?"

"I will, as soon as we've gotten concrete information on our enemy," Ironwood nodded, "Besides, we have some time, at the very least. It is the start of the semester, and Vale is hosting the Vytal Festival. Ozpin will likely be extremely busy organizing and securing these events."

Winter grudgingly accepted. Though she was sure that Indigo and Viola Arc had betrayed Atlas, the Arc Family was still a strong ally of an even more powerful comrade, Ozpin. She was sure of their guilt but she supposed some subtlety was needed if they didn't want to raise Ozpin's suspicions and ire.

They'd slip up eventually.

Still, everything about this situation was wrong. For each victory, the White Fang would publicly and loudly broadcast their victories over the 'forces of human tyranny', complete with fiery rhetoric and scathing condemnations. Winter expected to face a PR nightmare upon her return, both for the revelation of Camp Omega and the shady business practices of the SDC, along with the failure of Atlas to protect its interests.

Yet the White Fang, if it truly _was_ the White Fang in the first place, was silent.

She knew that word was going around the Huntsmen, Hunters-in-Training, the Militaries and the Councils, but if the White Fang weren't saying anything, neither would they. The Fang was increasing its violence in all Four Kingdoms, and the last thing they needed was to draw more Grimm attacks in by advertising their failure and losing public trust.

"That will be all", General Ironwood nodded, "Go get some rest. You must be exhausted from having your ship crash in the Grimmlands and having to fight your way back to Atlas."

Despite the impropriety, Winter let out a relieved sigh. At present, she wanted nothing more than a hot shower, a hot meal, some Mistralian Red, and a warm bed.

Oh, and Jaune Arc's broken form on his fours and licking her feet; but that could wait. She made for the door-

"One moment, Schnee."

Winter spun on her heel and straightened her back, "Yes, General Ironwood, sir?"

The General handed her the folder he had taken from his filing cabinet.

Perplexed, Winter opened it.

"Your conduct in the battlefield was inexcusable," spoke Ironwood in measured tones, "And while you were under extenuating circumstances, you had still fired upon Atlesian Military personnel, your own men, in confusion."

"But, the Arc had the stolen research, "Winter stammered," I thought he used it to usurp command of the Paladin."

"Which is why you're getting off with a slap on the wrist instead of a court martial," Ironwood scowled, "Consider yourself under probation _Specialist_ Schnee. _"_

Winter heard something in her head crack, along with laughter from a voice that sounded like her father's.

 _She-she... she had f ... fai.._

 _She had failed?_

 _Failed? Fail fail Failed Faillty-fail -fail?_

She knew she had failed back then but, but ...

A flash of memory. Gold hair, sky-blue eyes and that absolutely infuriating smile.

Something furious, _hot_ , unlike her usual cold fury, boiled in her core, and forced itself out her mouth in a whisper.

"This is all your fault, Jaune Arc."

* * *

Dust.

No one exactly remembered who started calling it that, though the implication to the primordial element from whence man was said to have emerged from was clear to all. A naturally occurring resource, dust was used as _the_ energy propellant of choice in Remnant.

Not like they had much choice. It was far superior to the likes of coal, and it was cheaper and more efficient as compared to solar and wind energies. Unlike hydroelectric power, dust didn't require having to go headlong into Grimm-infested abysses, because as a rule of thumb, every big body of water out in the wilds was probably teeming with aquatic Grimm.

Dust helped humanity turn back the tide against the Grimm hordes. Dust powered homes and cities, made cars run, and kept machines working. Dust powered automated weapons and robots, and dust was used in ammunition used by Huntsmen to battle the Grimm.

It was no exaggeration to say that dust was the lifeblood of Remnant.

And yet, for all its importance in society, everyone knew jack shit about it.

Indigo Arc of the Seven looked up from her latest piece of work. To the untrained eye, it was a simple, silver ingot of metal, but to her, it was another step to understanding the connections between dust and aura, between Remnant and Humanity.

Dust could be used in its very basest, crystalline form as a source of energy, or as her other sisters did, as makeshift explosives. Dust could also be used in a refined, easier to use form as powder, where it could then be used to fill ammunition cartridges or injected into weapons.

Weapons. As a member of the Arc Family, with its vaunted and much boasted Arc Weapons, Indigo felt that save for herself and her sister, there was no one else on Remnant capable of tackling this topic.

The Grimm were powerful. Their jaws and muscles could crush mundane steel easily. Swords and regular ammunition were more or less worthless until humanity figured out how to remake them, forging dust and metal into one. Coupled with the properties of Aura, and the discovery of dust's more destructive applications, Weapons paved the way for the rise of huntsmen.

Weapons served as conduits for the Aura, and that was because of the Dust craftsmen like her had carefully imbued into the metal. With Aura flowing through the dust-imbued steel, Weapons could begin holding their own even against the superior strength of the Grimm.

Yet that was far from the only case of dust and aura collaborating into something more. Huntsmen made use of their Semblances even outside of combat, and for them, it was as natural as walking and breathing. Just like aura, Semblances could be used without dust, yet, injecting dust into the intermediary, the weapon somehow changes the Semblance, _changes the soul._

Indigo's eyebrows furrowed, _perhaps it did not change the soul, but only called forth potential strength the soul had always possessed. Dust built on the Semblance, giving it new powers without changing its identity, not drastically altering the semblance._

This was where her and Viola's research came in. To what extent did dust affect the soul? Dust itself worked differently for different individuals, some huntsmen could get more punch out of a certain kind of dust, whereas other huntsmen just couldn't use a specific type. The first thing they needed was to establish some sort of trend.

The soul was affected by a great many things. The person's mindset, mood, and thoughts at the time affected the soul and thus the aura greatly. A strong, powerful urge to kill, for example, would translate to aura subtly augmenting the burst capabilities of muscle, increasing the destructive properties of dust rounds, and even honing the sharp edges of weapons.

To this end, they had begun crafting identical weapons of different dusts, with different metals, at different ratios, all to be wielded by a single group of Huntsmen. Would each weapon prove the same in different hands, or would specific weapons bring out latent potential in them that other weapons could not?

Of course, they could also craft other conduits out of experimental dust alloys aside from weapons, but those just didn't strike righteous, bowel-clenching fear into your enemies like transforming, overcompensating bazooka-chainsaw-sword-boomerangs.

Indigo gave a wistful sigh, and her eyes unconsciously darted to a framed picture of her family, specifically, to Jaune.

She and Viola had been so excited to forge a customized, personal weapon for their cute little brother, but had been so disappointed when he just up and took Crocea Mors for himself. It was like being invited to a buffet where _everything_ was available, then picking the dog food.

And now… Jaune was missing, presumably kidnapped.

Dad would fucking kill them, and hopefully he would do so before Mom found out.

And what about Jaune, oh God, he was probably terrified! What if the room he was kept in was dark? What if they didn't bring his onesie?! _He can't sleep without his onesie! He needs his onesie, and his blankie, and hugs, and love, and storytime, and…_

Indigo was interrupted from her thoughts when Viola suddenly coughed.

Indigo turned back, and removed the safety goggles from her eyes to regard her sister. She knew for a fact that she and Viola were in perfect health since they returned to work from Vale.

Viola continued coughing, her eyes meeting Indigo's. Her twin's eyes were wide and looking at her frantically. What was her deal? If Indigo didn't know any better, Viola was-

Indigo's eyes went wide, she was trying to tell her something!

The Seven, well, Six because Bianca was unemployed and jumping from job to job,; met regularly to establish secret codes and gestures. Did Viola think they were being watched, even in one of the most secure places in Atlas?

Indigo very calmly went back to work. Nonchalantly, her hands went to pull at her lab coat collar.

 _What's wrong?,_ the gesture meant.

Viola's coughing subsided, and from her reflection in the mirror Indigo had at her table, Indigo could see Viola remove her glasses and peer at them as if looking for a smudge.

 _We're being watched._ Either that or someone hot was checking her out.

Indigo yawned.

 _How? Who? What? Why? Where?_

Viola tilted her head ever so slightly to the side.

Indigo brought up her mirror, making a show of fixing her hair as she carefully scanned that direction for anyone suspicious. Sure enough, there were around six men and women in lab coats surreptitiously sneaking glances at the both of them.

Welp. If Atlas was eyeballing them like that, it was pretty damn likely their workstations were bugged as well.

She drummed her fingers on her desk, mimicking the squirming of an insect.

 _Are we bugged?_

Viola cracked her neck.

 _Are you stupid?_

Ah, yeah, right. That's why they were communicating like that, right. Of course Viola would pick up that they were being monitored first. Her Semblance could detect even the smallest traces of aura, and by extension, dust. She probably detected the bugs and the people monitoring them from the very beginning.

Their Semblances were the very reason they were specialists in their field. She was a telekinetic, and it really helped during the creation of custom alloys, and Viola could detect, with pinpoint precision, any reactions aura might have with dust.

So, Atlas was monitoring them, thought Indigo. She racked her head for possible reasons why. They were not remiss in their duties, and were in fact, making decent progress in their research.

Or perhaps…

The secret Arc Family Manor, burned to the ground, their beloved brother, missing, and as soon as they return to Atlas, they're placed under surveillance?

The timing was just too good.

Beneath her air of nonchalance, Indigo grew furious. She and Viola had served General Ironwood faithfully for years! Their contributions to the P.E.N.N.Y Project were huge, and this suspicion was how they were to be rewarded?

Or perhaps there was truth that Atlas had indeed been the ones to abduct Jaune and burn down their home. It was pretty clear to anyone with half a brain that Atlas had recently been bending over backwards to accommodate the SDC's whims, and that the Arc Family had long opposed their asshole policies. She wouldn't put it past those ice-cold bitches to take an innocent little boy hostage.

Very few people knew the Arc Manor even existed. Ozpin knew, so Ironwood might. If Ironwood knew, then his Schnee lapdog definitely knew.

Indigo schooled her face into a mask of cool indifference. Regardless of whether or not Jaune's life was at stake here, they needed to remain calm and not do anything stupid.

Viola was reading some papers, but Indigo could spot one of her hands opening and closing quickly, mimicking the big bang of an explosion.

 _Report to Rouge?_

Indigo closed her eyes for a mere couple of seconds.

Like Glynda Goodwitch, Indigo Arc was a telekinetic. Unlike Glynda Goodwitch, she couldn't lift tons of debris and remake the molecular bonds that held them together like a hyperactive child with superglue. Also unlike Glynda Goodwitch, the range of Indigo's Semblance was far better. Where Glynda could exert control over everything around her, with enough focus, Indigo could touch anywhere in the Kingdom.

As long as she knew where to look, of course. Otherwise she had to dumbly feel around her surroundings with her Semblance like a blind man.

Where Glynda's Semblance were like sets of sets of invisible arms, Indigo's Semblance was a toddler's pinky finger. Like, she could honestly say her Semblance was the ability to finger.

She ran this mental finger outside of their lab, feeling, searching in the surroundings until she found what she was looking for.

An unattended scroll, belonging to a young middle school student dozing off in the library.

Quickly, she began composing a message, and sent it to the secret number Rouge used for the month. She couldn't see what she had typed down, but she'd mentally fingered enough scrolls that she was sure the message was accurate.

"Hey Crimson, _you were right about Atlas_. There are lots of _bugs_ up here despite the cold _._ We do have it easy compared to Vale, too bad it's really fucking cold up here!" she texted.

 _Rouge, you were right about Atlas. Bugged._

Given that all forms of cross-Kingdom communications passed through the CCT, it was extremely likely that their texts and calls were being monitored as well. Better safe than sorry.

Barely a few seconds passed until Indigo had opened her eyes, nodded, and went back to work.

Their brother's life was on the line, they couldn't afford to act rashly. While Atlas was acting suspiciously, in the end they had no evidence that the Northern Kingdom held Jaune captive, or so Indigo sincerely hoped.

If they did, she and her family would burn the place down to the ground without a second thought. To the fucking ground.

The councilmen, either by virtue of their station or because they actually were yellow-bellied cowards, aimed to keep the Kingdoms as static and unchanging as they could. The Atlesian Military, currently serving as Remnant's main police force, had no choice but to ensure their dust kept flowing. The SDC, either because they were corrupt, amoral monsters only seeking profit or because they knew that their dust was the only thing keeping Remnant from falling, had no choice but to continue their path.

In the end, if Atlas really did take Jaune, she couldn't fault any of them for doing so. Her family was a powerful political opponent to all their agendas. Although, just the same, they couldn't fault the Arcs for tearing Atlas a new one if they did anything to Jaune.

In the end, Family was the only real thing of value they had in this bloody world.

That was the sole thing the Arcs and the Schnee could agree on, at least.

 _Hang on, Jaune,_ Indigo shut her eyes, _We'll search everywhere for you._

 _We'll save you, little bro, wherever you are._

* * *

Jaune laughed, a tad maniacally, in the streets of Vale, basking in the warm, bright sunlight that he'd been denied for a week.

He'd been getting some weird looks from the various passers-by, maybe because he was armed to the teeth, or maybe because of the spontaneous laughing, but quite honestly, Jaune didn't give a damn.

 _He was free._

Those three, beautiful words kept echoing in his head. No getting shanghaied into crazy White Fang shenanigans, no Twins bossing him around, and no sadistic, stupid sexy snow angels trying to stick things into him. _No, he was fucking free!_

The fact that Atlas wasn't even going after him was the icing on the cake.

* * *

"I don't believe it," muttered Junior as he took in his informants' report, "Atlas isn't shitting itself going after you."

"They aren't?!" exclaimed Jaune. Alright, this was awesome. Unexpected, but awesome, and Jaune wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mou-

Wait a minute, where the hell was Albus?

Jaune groaned, this was another thing he'd have to do. Albus was his responsibility now, after all. Hopefully the horse didn't crap all over Vale.

"So, this means I could go out now right?" Jaune half-asked, half-pleaded with the big man.

The twins were asleep, and Penny was… being Penny. Penny seemed to get her kicks off recharging herself by socketing her tentacle-wires in the outlets and causing creepy power disruptions when no one was paying that much attention. Jaune remembered brushing his teeth, only for the lights to flicker, and when they came back on, his eyes snapped to the pale, ghostly-glowing apparition smiling at him from the mirror.

He ended up thrashing the bathroom, the effect of which realized his fears of having to share a bathroom with the Twins, more specifically, Melanie.

Then there was the time the twins kicked him off his bed and slept in his room after Penny's latest attempt at moving independently. She tried to use her wires to swing from place to place, looking like a dismembered woman, upside down, hanging by her entrails as her eyes burned with unholy light, no biggy.

He had to fucking get away.

He had to fucking get away while they were asleep, before they realize that he ditched his chores. Ducky sandals or not, the twins could still kick his ass up and down, and he was the guy with weapons and armor.

"More or less," Junior scratched his beard, "We'll be moving back to the club tonight, I guess. We need to oversee the repairs."

"Great!" Jaune inched towards the door, things already packed and Crocea Mors slung on his hip.

"Atlas isn't doing anything overt, yet, and neither are the Fang..."

"Uh huh," Jaune was fiddling with the complex locks on the steel door.

"…So you still better lay low. Make sure you don't…"

"Got it," Jaune managed to open one, he moved to the next.

"Jaune."

"Consider it done, Junior," Jaune couldn't figure out which button was "open".

"Jaune!"

Jaune blinked and looked back.

"Are you sure you're not going to come with us?" Junior put his hands on his hips, "Vale's a pretty big place, and we're not in the… uhh, safer parts of the city."

Jaune smiled, "Don't worry, Junior, I can take care of myself!"

"Actually, I was more worried about you getting lost."

Jaune stopped momentarily, then shrugged, "It'll work out."

* * *

It didn't work out.

Jaune took another step into the unfamiliar streets before it dawned on him that he was completely, irrevocably, friggin' lost.

Not that it put a damper on his fine mood, though.

Deep blue eyes bright with new determination, he set out into the city.

He was going to become a _hero._ If there was one thing he learned from the whole Camp Omega incident, it was that he needed to get stronger. He _needed_ Beacon. The situation with the Faunus was direr than he had known, and he needed Beacon for the power and contacts to get shit done.

And to get to Beacon, he needed to get stronger.

Man, he needed to get stronger to get stronger, but Jaune wasn't giving up!

The answer was simple, he needed a tutor. He didn't have much in the way of money since he threw his wallet at the old lady whom he borrowed Albus from, but that wouldn't stop him. He'd beg if he needed to.

 _But where was he going to find a nice, combat tutor to talk to?_

Hell, where was he in the first place?

Jaune sighed. Getting flustered wouldn't help. He needed to calm down, and think.

Jaune took a deep breath, savoring the fresh air after being cooped up underground in so long. After _way_ too many close calls in Omega, being able to relax without anyone trying to murder him was precious.

Walking leisurely, he stopped to enjoy every little scent, the aroma of freshly baked bread from the shops to his right, the fragrance of the flowers and blossoms the Southern Kingdom was known for, and… marshmallows?

Eyes still closed, Jaune frowned, latching onto the smell like a bloodhound as he sniffed the air. The strange scent smelled like marshmallows, mixed with the earthy smell of Autumn.

He opened his eyes, when he did, he could barely find where the scent came from as the morning bustle grew.

Intrigued, Jaune closed his eyes again, deciding to rely solely on that scent to navigate.

Jaune walked straight towards the origin of that peculiar scent. Aside from marshmallows and the relaxing smell of Autumn plants, he could actually pick up a hint of ozone, and… something metallic. It smelled sweet, homey and familiar, yet felt cool, and fresh.

He was getting close to the smell now, Jaune kept his hands stretched in front of him protectively after walking into a wall.

Pace quickening, with every step, the scent got closer, and closer, _and closer!_ Nearly breaking into a run, Jaune bumped into something soft, yet firm and unyielding, and fell on his ass.

"Eeek!", came a feminine voice Jaune was depressed to admit was his.

"Aaah!" came another feminine voice, one manlier and stronger somehow.

Jaune opened his sky-blue eyes to look up to surprised, vivid green orbs, cleverly masked by nondescript sunglasses.

Jaune blinked. Behind the strong tinted frames, the emerald eyes blinked as well.

Still uncomprehending and sprawled on the asphalt; Jaune blinked again. Brain resuming its operations to some extent, he realized that he must've run into someone after sprinting around with his eyes closed.

Jaune winced. He supposed he should be glad he didn't get hit by a car or somethi-

Jaune's eyes widened. Oh God, he ran into someone!

"Oh my God, I am so sor-" Jaune began to say.

"I'm sorry!" the girl cut him off, as she offered him a hand.

 _Wait, what?_

Accepting the outstretched hand, Jaune took in the girl's appearance. In addition to the large, thick sunglasses she wore, she also had on a beret that covered her hair, a thick woolen scarf that obscured most of her face, a tan coat that reached her knees, and a _huge_ knapsack that was just as large as she was, strapped on her back.

Jaune tilted his head slightly. It was the start of the semester, but surely not cold enough to demand such heavy clothes. Still, she did look really stylish, and who was Jaune to talk about fashion?

He grasped her hand, surprised at how strong and calloused it was despite its soft appearance.

"You don't need to apologize," Jaune gave her a sheepish smile, "I was kinda the one that bumped into you."

"Oh!" the girl flinched, like, visibly flinched, "I'm sorry!"

Jaune wasn't light, what with his sword, armor, and backpack, but she pulled him up effortlessly, despite what was no doubt a heavy load on her back. Jaune rubbed the back of his head. The girl turned a little red, and had a pleasant, energetic smile on her face. Unlike the patronizing smiles Jaune was used to receiving, her smile was genuine, and dare he say it, she was _pretty_.

Most notably however, was the fact that she didn't let go of his hand yet.

"Aah!", she appeared to take notice as well, and jerked her hand away quickly, "I'm sorry!"

His heart leapt in his chest. This was his chance to make friends! _This was his chance to make normal, non-terrorist, non-nightmare-inducing, non-blubberducky-sandal-wearing friends!_

Oh God, he was even beginning to sound like Penny!

Before she was able to remove her hand, Jaune grasped it with both his hands like a drowning man would a lifeline. The girl's vivid green eyes widened, and looked up to his own.

Jaune flashed her the warmest smile he made in his life.

"Name's Jaune Arc! Short, sweet, rolls off the tongue! What's your name?"

The effect of that one statement was immediate.

From smiles and sunshine, the girl's mood did a full 180 and all of a sudden, she seemed hesitant and nervous.

Jaune screamed internally. _Oh fuck. I'm doing it again, like that time his sister Sapphire asked me if her dress made her look fat, or that time Sienna asked me who my favorite sister is, or like that time where –_

"Prrhna..." she mumbled, voice small.

"Piranha," Jaune deadpanned.

"Pyrene! Umm, Pyrene," she mumbled, voice small, "It... it's a pleasure to meet you."

Her eyes began darting to and fro, and while she met Jaune's gaze; Jaune noticed something different, something that just wasn't present a few moments ago. The look was familiar to Jaune, he'd been seeing it on the faces of the shipload of faunus refugees he had rescued, after all.

Fearful hope.

Jaune's expression softened. The reason for her fear was stupidly obvious!

 _People tease her for her funny name!_

"That's a nice name," Jaune shook her hand, "Would you mind if I call you Pyr?"

* * *

 **Chapter 10 End**

 **AN:** Sorry I took so long, I wrote this chapter on my phone. I have a quota at work now. Also, I got issued a company computer, so I can't type the story in my free time anymore. Still, updates should hopefully be quicker now cause I got a new phone.

Sorry for the slow chapter. Every time I write, I start with a general plan of what I want to achieve, but in the process of writing it out, often, I find that I need to shorten it or cut stuff out. Still, at the very least I should be done with Chapter 11, soon, but I should take a long while wondering about whether or not I wanna continue with what I have planned. Ah well.


	12. Chapter 11: The Games We Play

**AN: I would like to begin this chapter with my apologies for the tardiness of this update. I had lots of ideas planned and lots of interludes, but I… well, screwed up the pacing by working on several different devices: my phone, my laptop and a friend's computer. Also Overwatch. Yeah. Also, thank you all for the support!**

 **AN2: I am also very pleased to announce that recently, Nike0071497 of has graciously translated Arc of the Revolution into Russian (or perhaps more accurately, Cyrillic). It can be found here ( /readfic/4457596).**

 **AN3: There comes a time in RWBY Fics where characters sit down and play chess, the pieces and the game itself becoming metaphors for their motivations and characteristics.**

 **This is that chapter.**

 **Oh, and everyone is a spy. Kkthxbai.**

* * *

Albus walked forward.

Albus walked forward, the sounds of his polished horseshoes striking fine marble echoed through the empty halls.

Albus walked forward, his eyes not leaving the beady dark orbs of his nemesis, Zwei.

Zwei leered at him, sitting on his corgi butt, and crossing his corgi legs on the plush, black leather chair. Albus paid the juvenile attempt at intimidation no heed. He'd stared down more terrifying creatures in the past, and even called one partner, once.

No, you did not want to see autumn incarnate during her time of the month. On that path lay death and madness.

Zwei reached out a paw, beckoning him closer, eyes glinting hungrily.

As composed as steel, Albus took the white leather seat opposite Zwei's.

Zwei barked, and all of a sudden, the darkness in between them was banished, revealing a finely polished table holding refreshments ... and a chessboard.

Albus regarded the drink, then the game.

The "chessboard", if one could call it that, resembled less the white and black squares of the ancient game, and more of a map of Vale. The pieces themselves were not black and white either, but in vast multitudes of color: yellows, reds, blues were all abound, and wrought from different materials, some of wood, some of glass, and some of metal. They all also possessed different designs, like they were all collected from different sets. Some King pieces had brilliant crowns, while others wore crosses or the like. Some were smooth and simple, and some were overlaid with beautiful filigree of precious metals.

Most interesting, however, was that the tops of each piece, from Kings to Pawns, were all cut at the top, allowing one to slide photographs on each piece. Indeed, the bright green pieces that occupied Beacon's location held pictures of its notable and august staff. Disciplinarian Glynda's photograph was attached to a brilliant green glass queen. Peter Port's picture was attached to a stone rook, painted the same green as Glynda's piece.

Albus narrowed his eyes, before lowering his head to the beautifully ornamented trough and taking a drink. Drinking of the trough deeply, Albus's senses were assaulted by the fragrant caresses of fine jasmine tea.

Steeling himself and holding his surprise in, the horse had to wonder. Was this a message, or dumb luck? Did the dog suspect where his true loyalties lay?

Searching for a distraction, Albus' attention was turned to Ozpin's photograph, calm and resolute.

How very interesting, Albus mused, Beacon's esteemed headmaster was but a pawn. Albus turned to Zwei and made known his question.

"Neeeigggh."

Zwei, for once, ceased mocking him and instead regarded him somewhat seriously, before he shrugged.

"Arf."

 _What?!_

"Neeeeigggghhhh, snort."

"Arf! Bark, bark!"

Albus snorted, but inside, a cold fear had made itself known. The implications were staggering.

Maintaining an aloof facade, Albus knew he wouldn't get another chance at this anytime soon, and so his eyes carefully scanned the board, memorizing notable details and formations.

Seemingly detached from Vale, on top of a giant question mark print, numerous pieces were gathered around the only jet-black piece on the board.

Albus's eyes widened imperceptibly. The black piece was an obsidian _Queen._

Surrounding the black piece were a large amount of other pieces, made or wrapped around in various exotic materials. To the piece's north, pieces wrapped in snakeskin and turtle shell stood at the ready. To the Black Queen's west were white pieces painted with tigerstripes; to the east, pieces were painted bright blue and seemed to be wrapped in reptile scales.

Interestingly, there were some other pieces in that formation which stood out. Very close to the obsidian pawn, standing in a neutral position, was a tall, scarlet piece fashioned from a bull's horn. Albus could not tell whether it was supposed to be a Queen or a King, and it stood in front of a staggering amount of pieces behind it.

Something else that caught his eye, was the formation of pieces near the obsidian pawn's south. They were white, but adorned with vermillion feathers, but only a small amount remained with the obsidian pawn, half of them remained far away, aloof, while the other half...

The other half seemed to be drawn to an ivory piece standing solitary by the edge of the board.

Albus squinted. The white piece was larger than a Pawn, but smaller than a King, and looked like either one of the two.

It had no picture pinched into it.

 _Aha._

Zwei began growling. The shadows in the dark room seemed to scurry around and rumble.

Albus simply whinnied mockingly.

Inexplicably grasping the pieces without opposable thumbs, Zwei's paws moved several pieces closer to Beacon.

With a neigh, Albus's front leg jolted forward and took hold of one before his smaller adversary could react. He grasped a bronze queen tightly in his hoof (of course he could do that) and retracted it right before Zwei's fangs could sink into his flesh.

Zwei snorted angrily.

Albus regarded the mineral he held in his hoof.

It shone burnished bronze, with flecks of crimson when held near the light.

Albus placed the piece down near the lone white piece, and to his surprise, some pieces drew closer, whereas others were knocked down.

This metal, it seemed, was extremely magnetic.

Zwei's eyes snapped down to one piece that had fallen extremely close to the ivory pawn.

An emerald knight.

 _How very, very interesting,_ Albus took another gulp of his tea.

* * *

 **Arc of the Revolution**

 **Chapter 11**

 **The Games We Play**

 **Alternative Title: Obligatory Chess Chapter**

* * *

"Hahahahahaha, _ahahahahahah!_ " cackled Winter Schnee, pus dribbling down from the many diseased warts on her hag face, as she stood atop her Goliath's terrible head, "You're too late, Jaune Arc!"

Jaune Arc rose from Ferrum Mors, his iron throne; shirtless under his white cape, revealing his mighty, eight foot tall frame, eight-pack abs, and glorious pecs to all. At his feet, young, gorgeous, oiled faunus virgins, loosely draped in translucent silks, as well as Adam Taurus, all swooned over his mighty form.

"I will never let the faunus go!", Winter Schnee stomped on the Goliath's head with her hairy, misshapen feet. In response, the Goliath lifted a net filled with even more beautiful, oiled faunus maidens to its salivating mouth. "Do you see, Jaune Arc?! They're going to work for me, forever!", Winter chortled, spittle flying through the air, " _Foreeeeveeeeer!_ "

"No, Winter Schnee," Jaune Arc spoke, his silky blonde locks swaying enticingly in the wind, "You will let my people go!"

"Neveeeer!", Winter sneered. The hunchbacked Schnee witch lifted her bony arms, and from out of the shadows, hordes of Grimm bared their fangs at him.

"Schnee, _schneeee!_ " the assembled Grimm hissed.

"The faunus will never see the light of equal rights, equitable living wages, and humane benefits!" laughed the Schnee, "Those dirt-eating, shit-shoveling animals are going to mine me dust, now, and forevermore!"

The vile Schnee, with yellowed, broken teeth smiled. "They won't even get decent dentals."

"You fiend!" Jaune exclaimed.

" _Please, Mister Arc_ ," one of the captive faunus, a stunning red-haired bombshell cried out, voice sultry. She clasped her hands together, as if in prayer, pressing her _adequate_ ly sized, oil-glistening breasts together, " _Please help us!_ " she called out.

The sound of singing steel rang through the air as Jaune drew his mighty sword, Crocea Mors. "Never fear!" Jaune brandished the white sword, pointing it at the colossal form of the Goliath, "For we are the Flame!"

"Flame this, Arc!", Winter shrieked, bidding the Goliath to charge Ferrum Mors.

As the thundering feet of the Goliath drew closer, Jaune Arc raised his sword.

"GIGA!", Jaune Arc roared, white aura flaring around him spiralling around his sword, the white aura covered the Arc's legendary sword, and it grew double, no, _triple_ , no, _quadruple, no, several hundreds of times larger than its size!_

"I'm going to shit on that sword when I'm through with you, Arc!" Winter jeered.

"CROCEA MORS!", Ferrum Mors grasped the growing sword with both hands, and began spinning wildly, looking more and more like a sword-shaped missile each passing second.

"I do this for Schneeeeeeee–"

"BREAKEEEEEEEEEEEER!"

 **-Jaune Arc: The True Story – Volume 1, directed and produced by Icicle Bay**

* * *

"Cinder!" Roman Torchwick scurried into the bullhead, "We've got a huntress!"

Against his better instincts, he dared to look back at his persistent pursuers. Sure enough, the diminutive girl with the overcompensating scythe, and the woman in white and purple weren't even fazed.

Roman squinted. It was difficult to see in the darkness of night, he wasn't some faunus rat, but if he didn't know any better, that looked like...

 _Fuck, that's Glynda Goodwitch!_

Glynda frowned ever so slightly. With a flick of her riding crop, Glynda had summoned purple light into existence, and launched them at the escaping bullhead.

Roman's grip on Melodic Cudgel tightened, this was gonna suck.

Somehow splitting in mid-air, each streak of light had homed in and detonated on every weakness, every vulnerability, the bullhead had with pinpoint precision.

Melodic Cudgel clattered uselessly on the aircraft's floor; Roman used one hand to steady himself, and the other to ensure his hat remained atop his head. Glynda _fucking_ Goodwitch was battering his getaway vehicle like a piñata and while it was heavily armored, there was only so much damage it could take.

Goodness, and to think the day started really well.

Junior's goons were absolutely pathetic, but hey, at least they could carry stuff without blowing themselves up. They'd gotten a good haul for the day, and they'd managed to stockpile quite a decent amount. His efforts were singlehandedly driving up the prices of dust, and in extension, near everything as well. If the Schnee and the cops didn't shape up, he'd rob Vale dry in a couple of months.

Roman's intelligent eyes narrowed. She still hadn't told him why "The Plan" required the use of so much dust. Come to think of it, she hadn't told him anything about "The Plan" at all. He hadn't even seen her two hanger-ons, the legless dumbass and klepto slut in a while either. In fact, for the past month, she'd been tightlipped, barely saying anything at all. He'd been busy with organizing a Kingdom-wide dust run that he didn't pay much attention to it, but now that he thought about it...

Another purple explosion rocked the ship.

 _I'll think about it later_ , Roman decided.

It irked him to hide behind his boss's really short skirts like a child, but hey, why fight a battle you couldn't win?

What was he, a goddamn hero?

"Cinder!" Roman called out again, stumbling into the cockpit, "We've got a huntress!"

Roman expected the Red Woman on the pilot's seat to smoothly and calmly take command. He expected her to stand up and defeat their foes with esoteric powers and ancient flame.

He did not expect the woman sitting by the controls to turn her head to him, eyes wide. In fact, if he didn't know any better, in her usual smoldering gaze, there was a speck of fear.

Roman blinked, and she was back to her calm, confident self. Did he really see Cinder afraid back there, or was he just...

"Take the controls, Roman," The Red Lady requested – no, _ordered_ , and he scrambled to obey.

The Red Lady strode, unhindered by the shaking and lurching of the craft, to the bullhead's open doors, right as Glynda Goodwitch launched another purple streak into the night sky.

Like a firework, the streak detonated, and for the briefest moments, the skies and the stars had been painted with a magic circle, before giving rise to dark storm clouds.

Roman grunted as he tried to steady the bullhead as the winds rose and the skies crackled with unnatural lightning.

 _Shit, if she keeps this up_...

Roman's thoughts were interrupted yet again when he spotted something glint in the shadowy clouds. His instincts screamed at him, and he dodged to his left right in time to narrowly dodge a spike hewn from ice.

Glynda was pelting their bullhead with icicles now.

Roman swore. First he had run into little Red over there at some random dust shop that didn't even look worth robbing, then he runs into one of Remnant's most powerful huntresses just like that? Shit, if Cinder didn't do something soon, he was abandoning ship.

In the darkness of the Bullhead, away from prying eyes, the Red Lady bode her time. The odds were greatly stacked against her. She had to maintain appearances as much as possible, and with the fact that they were to infiltrate Beacon, using her signature weapons against Glynda Goodwitch would mean digging her own grave. She looked down on the hooded huntress trainee and Ozpin's Witch. This distance wasn't her preferred range, she needed to get up close and personal to shine.

She quashed the urge to curse. Cinder Fall didn't curse, after all. Besides, she still had one weapon that could turn this all around.

Her Semblance.

She again resisted the urge to swear. Had there been only one of them, she would cast her Semblance on them and they would be able to escape easily. But two?

Two at a time, she could handle, but... well...

The ship shook once again, and one of its engines burst into flame.

She steeled herself. It was just like before, before she met _her_ , back when it was do or die. When she was on the streets and had to risk her life so she could push back the gnawing pangs of hunger for just a few more hours.

The Red Lady strode forward, glass heels clinking on the metal floor. As she came into view, the small one in the red hood perked up while Goodwitch remained stoic. As their eyes fell upon her crimson clad, creamy skinned, raven locked form, already could she feel the stress from maintaining this charade. She _had_ to end it now or she was finished.

Bringing up memorized information on how she heard the Fall Maiden fought like, she raised a flaming palm up to the sky.

She needed something big to scare them off.

Twisting flames burned into existence, wrapping themselves around each other and thickening like they were pulsing muscle. With a mighty roar, the flames had converged into one long, twisted, winged form.

A dragon. She had twisted the flames of Fall into a burning, serpentine dragon.

In the distance, she could hear the Red hood scream, and the witch herself gasp.

Ha. She had actually managed to get a reaction from the witch. She'd chalk that up as a success, almost worth the pounding vertigo now threatening to make her puke.

With a flick of her burning hand, the dragon surged forward like a bullet, gaping jaw wide open and hungry for huntress.

Red looked shocked, her mouth agape, her feet frozen in place. Glynda had to grab her and throw her to another roofdeck as she herself jumped off the building.

Heh, good. That was mission complete, right? Still, she did that much, so she may as well see it through.

She waved her hands like an enraptured orchestra conductor, and the dragon twisted in the air, falling upon the building, setting it ablaze with the sound of a mighty explosion.

It was a painful feat, but she believed it was worth it, watching her enemies scurry from something that wasn't even there. She imagined the reactions they'd have when they'd report to Ozpin only to see no traces of the so-called fiery dragon come morning. She grinned a weak grin, something that looked so out of place on Cinder's face. Not that it mattered, no one was around looking at her right?

She allowed herself to sink to her knees. Her vision was beginning to blur. She'd done enough, Roman was piloting, and she could probably catch some sleep before –

A glint in the distance shook her from her reverie. Something was approaching the bullhead, something fast. Her eyes were used to looking at fast things and this was... A SPEAR MADE OF BRICKS?!

 _Glynda Goodwitch_!, she realized.

Ozpin's witch had fashioned a javelin made of whatever materials she could find, and chucked it at them.

"Roman!" she called out desperately, but when she turned, there was no one in the pilot's seat.

She turned back right in time to see the witch's erstwhile javelin plunge deeply into the bullhead, unnaturally bound stone twisting apart reinforced steel with a screech, as well as setting its cargo – precious, volatile dust aflame.

The projectile had shaken the aircraft like a top, whipping the back of her head onto its walls, where she struggled, grasping at the last strands of consciousness even as her world spun.

The force from that strike, coupled with the flames spreading throughout the bullhead reached the caches of dust they had stolen throughout the day. With the deafening explosions added to the mix, the much battered burning engine of the small aircraft had finally broken, the bullhead spiralled down into Vale.

The Red Lady was shaken up and down like a ragdoll in a coffin. Each lurch smashed her reeling body to another wall, another obstacle, as each explosion burned at her rapidly-diminishing aura. She had overexerted her Semblance, it was never meant to be used on more than one person at a time, and coupled with the spinning of the freefalling bullhead; she could finally feel her vision dim and her consciousness darken.

"Cinder," The Lady in Red, thought, as she gave in to blissful unconsciousness.

"Please help me."

* * *

Pyrene took a glance at her surroundings, Jaune knew the look. It was the look of someone trying to act like he knew his way around when in actuality, they had not even the slightest clue what was going on. Jaune wore that expression nearly every day now, after all.

If Jaune were forced to describe the place they were in with one word, he would use the word "cozy"; what with its carpeted floor, red brick walls, wooden furniture, and ever so slightly tinted windows that let through _just_ the right amount of sun into the café.

Jaune took a deep breath, and found the air pleasantly steeped in the aroma of coffee, cinnamon, and caramel.

It was an unassuming little establishment by one of the smaller, prettier streets of Vale, on top of a small hill. Unlike most buildings in the Southern Kingdom which were built of gray stone and concrete, the buildings in this quiet, tree-nestled street were made of warm, red brick.

Jaune brought out his scroll and saved the café's location into his map. The aptly-named Cocoa Corner was someplace he'd definitely like to visit again sometime.

Jaune let out a sigh; he still felt like a moron for not using his scroll's map and saving himself the trouble of getting lost, but hey, he made a friend!

Seeing the quiet wonder on Pyr's face as she looked around, Jaune couldn't help but smile.

 _Strangers are just friends you haven't met yet._

As Jaune sat down on a cushioned wooden chair, he had but one thought in mind:

 _Worth it._

Pyrene was still looking around, vivid emerald eyes drinking in the warm colors of the quiet nook.

Unwilling to break the comfortable silence, Jaune busied himself with observing his new friend. They had taken a small table by the window, and the white sunlight seemed to make Pyrene glow. She was wearing subtle green eyeliner, and if Jaune squinted, he could spot a few strands of brilliant red hair peeking from underneath her hat. Jaune's eyes, almost of their own volition, went to Pyr's glistening pink lips, and for a moment, he could imagine –

"Oho, I like your style, kid."

"Eep," Jaune squeaked, thankfully it went unheard as Pyr and the barista began speaking.

"Oh, this?" Pyrene looked towards her outfit. "It's just… uhh, Vale's a bit chilly compared to where I'm from, that's all."

"Looks great," the barista continued. As Jaune regarded the barista, it was pretty clear that she looked great as well. She had short, dark brown hair, with wavy locks on the side of her face that eventually transitioned from dark brown to caramel. She was wearing a simple white apron over a cocoa-colored blouse, dark pants and heels, long with a number of accessories: necklaces, bracelet, aviator sunglasses clipped on her collar (Oh God, another Kaz?) and a handbag slung on her shoulder.

 _Why is she carrying her handbag instead of leaving it somewhere?_

"Loving how the beret looks," the barista mentioned. "Been thinking about getting one myself, but was never really sure about how it'd look on me."

Pyrene smiled, "Well, I think it would look wonderful on you, miss..?"

"Coco," the barista gave her a crooked smile, just as the sun came peeking through the window. Jaune resisted the urge to gape; was everyone in Vale a supermodel? Where Pyr was the perfect picture of a refined, cultured lady, Coco seemed to ooze sassy confidence.

"Gotcha," Coco scribbled down Pyr's order, "The Vale Autumn special, light roast with autumn berries and a hint of cinnamon." Coco's gaze fell on the unprepared Jaune, "And you?"

Jaune could spot the barista's eyes narrow ever so slightly at his outfit. Jaune took slight offense to that. His mom and sisters said he looked cool.

"I-I… uhh…" Jaune stammered. He totally hadn't been paying attention! Feeling Pyrene's eyes rest on him, he took a deep breath, and calmly spoke, "I'll have the strongest thing you have!"

Coco blinked, as if seeing Jaune in a new light, or more accurately, began wondering if the boy in front of her had a death wish. Given that Jaune looked _somewhat_ in charge of his mental faculties, she began entertaining the thought that this kid was serious.

She subtly eyed her scroll, and … wow, huh, this kid had a lot of aura. One cup couldn't hurt, right?

 _Right?_

Coco nodded numbly, and shambled off to the kitchen in a daze. Jaune mentally congratulated himself; he had totally nailed that one.

"So," Jaune asked, "Where are you from?"

For some reason, the question seemed to please Pyrene.

"Mistral," Pyr smiled back at him, "From how you're dressed, I'm guessing you're here for the same reason I am?"

"Oh?" Jaune raised an eyebrow. "What reason would that be?"

"Why, to study at Beacon, of course!"

Jaune's face fell. Those words felt like icicles piercing his chest.

Of course. It all made sense. It was that time of the year after all; the start of the semester. Hunters-in-Training would flock here from all over Vale to enter Beacon, the Southern Kingdom's Premier Hunter Academy.

 _Stupid. Stupid!_ Jaune should've known! Now that he thought about it, Pyr looked every inch a travelling huntsman-in-training; what with the thick clothes, the large bag, and-

"Is something wrong?" Pyrene's eyes were wide, worried, under tinted lenses.

Jaune paused, and took a moment to compose himself. He was here to make it up to Pyr for bumping into her in the middle of the street. Just wait for the drink, sip, pay for it, and leave; simple.

"I'm sorry," Pyr muttered, eyes downcast.

Damn it, he was supposed to make it up to her, not make her day worse!

"Nah, it's fine," Jaune wore what was hopefully a wry grin, "I was just thinking about something."

"It's just…" Pyr bit her bottom lip, "I saw your sword and armor and thought you were here for Beacon. I'm sorry."

"Well, I _was_ here for Beacon," Jaune's hand, on instinct, went to rub the back of his head, "But my transcripts didn't make the cut."

Well, there was also the fact that they were complete fakes, but she didn't need to know that.

"I … I see."

"Yup."

"I'm sorry."

"It wasn't your fault; don't apologize."

"Oh, yes," Pyrene nodded, "I'm sorry."

"…"

Jaune continued rubbing the back of his head.

Pyrene began tapping a rhythm on the wooden table. It sounded like a commercial jingle.

Jaune looked at Pyrene, and she couldn't meet his gaze.

 _Damn it._

From the corner of his eye, he could spot the Barista Coco give him the stink eye; her hands gesturing _"do something, you idiot!"_ frantically.

Damn it, she was right. He was being so negative he could probably attract a horde of Grimm on his lonesome. Quickly, his eyes darted around the room for anything; _anything_ that he could use to distract Pyrene with.

"Ha, check!"

Jaune's eyes snapped towards a neighboring table; where its occupants were busying themselves in a game of chess.

Jaune hated chess.

Jaune turned his head towards the polished wooden shelves by the corner. The thing was stacked with books, fashion magazines, and… _aha, boardgames!_

Smile back, Jaune turned to Pyr just as she met his eyes.

"Chess! Would you –"

"Would you be interested in –"

Both of them blinked, then small, matching smiles returned to their faces.

"Chess?" Pyrene brought up.

"Yeah," Jaune agreed.

From the corner of his eye, he could spot Coco flash him a small thumbs up.

"Here, let me-"

"Oh no, I insist –"

Both he and Pyrene made to rise simultaneously, quickly freezing when they realized they each planned to acquire a chessboard.

"It's no problem, Jaune," Pyr gave him a warm smile, "Please, allow me."

Jaune shrugged, "Okay."

From the corner of his eye, he could spot Coco shake her head at him disapprovingly.

Pyrene rose from the table and casually walked over to the shelves. She reached out a hand to take one of the chessboards, but seemed to hesitate, before slowly plucking one out.

Jaune rose an eyebrow at her as she returned to their table.

"I'm sorry, Jaune," Pyrene returned to her seat, "They were all out of chessboards," She gently laid the game board down on their table, "This was all they had left."

Jaune squinted, somehow the board, and its 81 blank squares, none of them black or white, looked familiar to him. In fact, it looked like –

"Shogi!" Jaune exclaimed.

"Shogi?" Pyrene parroted.

Jaune opened the board, and sure enough, he found the telltale wooden wedge-shaped pieces of the ancient game.

A smirk founds it place on Jaune's lips. Back when his family was still training him, this, aside from chess and those video game knock-offs, shogi was another of the games Rouge and Sienna Arc had taught him.

Pyrene moved her chair closer, until she was sitting by his side. "Isn't this the chess variant popular in Southern Mistral and Eastern Vale?"

"Don't know about that," Jaune grinned, "But I definitely like it more than chess, that's for sure!"

Pyrene raised an eyebrow, "Why so?"

"Lots of reasons," Jaune began setting the board up, from the left, he assembled his Lance, his Knight, his Silver General, and his Gold; Pyrene mirroring his formations on the other side of the board. "But mostly one," With a "clack" Jaune dropped his Bishop and his Rook, and it was then Pyrene noticed the absence of one key piece so distinctive in Chess.

 _"_ _There are no Queens."_ Pyrene realized.

Jaune slammed his King onto the board.

"No Queens," Jaune grinned.

Pyrene leaned forward., eyes focused. Like the origins of chess, like the origins of nearly everything in Remnant, actually, no one exactly remembered when Shogi was developed. It was always just… there, as another relic of the forgotten past; as a relic of the Whole, of which Remnant was once part of.

Still, albeit forgotten, while people still used these relics, still played these games, they kept history alive. That had to be something, right?

From the corner of his hearing, Jaune could hear Coco groan.

"How do we play?" Pyrene asked, "I assume the rules aren't really different from Chess?"

"More or less," Jaune brought a hand to his chin in contemplation, "Although it's a lot easier to explain if I show you instead."

Eyes on the board, Pyrene waved, open palm upturned, conceding him the first move.

Jaune's hand went to the rank of smallest wedges, and moved one step forward.

"These are the pawns. They only move one step forward, and unlike chess, can only capture pieces forward. They can't move two squares in their first move."

Pyrene mirrored his move as her mind contemplated those mechanics. This meant that Pawns just couldn't be forestalled by other pawns, but could continue moving indefinitely if unopposed; however, if two pawns were to meet, the one that moved first was the first to die.

That was… rather passive, wasn't it?

Jaune's hand went to the 2nd rank, occupied by only two large pieces.

"The one on the left is the Bishop, and the one to the right is the Rook. They operate the same as Chess, except –"

"Except there are only one of each of them." Pyrene finished.

More pieces, no queens, and one less Bishop and Rook. In this case, Shogi felt more static than chess. Pyrene failed to see the appeal.

Jaune's finger pointed to the sidemost piece in the last rank.

"Lance, moves straight only, any number of squares."

 _An impaired Rook_ , Pyrene thought.

"Knight, same as Chess, except these guys can only move the forward L."

Pyrene shrugged.

"Silver General, can move one square diagonally in any direction, or one square forward."

 _Glorified Pawn._

"Gold General, one square horizontally, vertically, or one square forward diagonally."

 _Another glorified Pawn._ Pyrene still couldn't understand why some people preferred this game over Chess, when Chess seemed like a much more dynamic game; there were less spaces to cross, and more pieces with greater range. Like a true bout, every move could mean victory or defeat.

Jaune moved a General forward. His expression was unreadable.

Pyrene moved a Pawn out of the way. Sure, there were differences from Chess, but in essence, she felt it was the same, if not slightly inferior.

Jaune moved another General.

Pyrene moved another Pawn.

Jaune slid pieces to the side, appearing as if he were erecting some sort of formation.

Pyrene slid her pawns forward, advancing rapidly towards Jaune's ranks.

Jaune's formation began resembling more and more of a castle, tight, compact, filled with pieces reinforcing each other.

Pyrene threw her Pawns onward; she sacrificed the pawns to her side to open up corridors for her Lances to charge through.

Jaune's formations began tightening further.

Pyrene opened more and more avenues of attack, as well as taking the center.

Their side of the café was silent, save for the "clacking" of wooden wedges and the occasional hum.

Jaune continued turtling up, only counter-attacking when it seemed he didn't have a choice; while Pyrene continued pushing, her formation a well-reinforced spear to Jaune's blocky defenses.

Pyrene took her remaining Knight, the other having fallen four turns ago, and surveyed the battlefield. Save for her unmoved King, several pawns and a lone Silver General; she had committed all her forces in a devastating attack. Pyrene controlled the center, and nearly the entire map, save for that one corner of the board that Jaune had painstakingly fortified, as well as separated individual pieces.

Pyrene narrowed her eyes. There were barely any gaps or openings within that veritable castle. Any Knight she could sneak in would be countered by Jaune's own. If she battered at his wall of Pawns, her vanguard would fall to his reinforcing Golds.

Jaune wasn't stupid, this she knew. So what was he up to?

While his defenses were airtight, Pyrene by now had secured an insurmountable material advantage by now. Half his pieces had fallen to her assault, where she had lost, what, a third? No, even less than that, just a piece more than a fourth, all inconsequential pieces at that, just Pawns and those Pawns by other names.

Had their positions been reversed, she'd have conceded or tried something reckless by now. So why hadn't he?

Regardless of what defenses he prepared, even if she lost two pieces for every one she took, she would prevail. She just needed to crack him open like an egg.

She would win in around six moves.

Jaune on the other hand surveyed the board, and smiled.

He would win in five.

"I win, Pyr."

Pyrene raised an eyebrow.

Jaune picked up one of Pyrene's captured pawns, "Pyrene, do you know why the wedges, whether they're yours or mine, look exactly the same, aside from which direction they're pointed at?"

Pyrene remained silent, her expression curious, yet neutral.

"It's not like chess," Jaune played with the piece, twirling it with his fingers, "Except for the Kings, no piece is made Black or White; the only thing that marks them as friend or foe just really happens to be which direction they're facing."

"That's an interesting insight, Jaune," a small smile crept up on Pyr's lips, _how long had she wanted to just talk like this?_ "But I fail to understand how you're going to win."

Jaune smirked back in response, "There's one main rule why Shogi players don't play as aggressively as Chess players." Jaune threw the Pawn up in the air.

"Drops," Jaune spoke, as he caught the thrown Pawn and slammed it down back on the board, direction reversed, right in front of her King.

"Check." Jaune declared.

Pyrene blinked.

"Drops," Pyrene spoke slowly.

"What I love most about this game," Jaune met her gaze, "Is that the pieces you capture can be brought back, _under your control._ "

Pyrene's eyes widened. All of a sudden, Jaune's erratic decisions had begun making sense.

No, it wasn't over yet, Jaune was just attacking her with a pawn! She could move diagonally, then capture the Pawn from its side! Pyrene swerved her King to the side.

Jaune dropped another piece on the board, a Gold behind the Pawn. His intentions were twofold: first, he reinforced the Pawn, and second, he threatened the King diagonally.

Pyrene's eyes studied the newly-dropped Gold; she couldn't capture it with her King as it was being guarded by a Silver that she thought Jaune had long abandoned.

"Check." Jaune declared.

Pyrene retreated. She had been playing Chess, where the game was different.

"Check." With a clack, Jaune had dropped another piece.

Pyrene sidestepped.

"Check." _Clack!_

Pyrene's King backed up into a corner.

Jaune picked up one of the Pawns he had dropped, and moving it forward, right in front of her King, he flipped it over.

Underneath the dull, black text that said "Pawn", was bright red text declaring "Promoted Pawn."

"Checkmate!"

Pyrene's eyebrows twitched, while the sides of her mouth tilted upwards.

One small part of her was impressed. This was, first of all, a practice game, meant to introduce to her the rules and mechanics of this game, and he did so admirably, in a way she definitely wouldn't forget anytime soon.

As for the other parts?

The other, bigger part of her, the champion, _roared_ at this puny boy's insolence. How dare he not just teach her the game's full mechanics from the very beginning?! This was a match she could've won. This was the first match she'd lost _since she was motherfucking ten!_

"Rematch!" Pyr barked, fist slamming into the coffee table.

From the corner of his eye, Jaune could see Coco desperately mouth something.

 _Let her win_ , Coco's wide, mocha eyes pleaded.

 _Kick her ass?_ Jaune inquired. _Will do,_ he gave her a jaunty salute.

From the corner of his eye, Jaune could see Coco throw her arms up in the air, probably elated by his skill and competence. When Pyr wasn't looking, Jaune nodded back, smile on his face.

When he had looked back, Pyrene had already reassembled their pieces and reformed their ranks. She'd memorized the placements of these unfamiliar pieces in but a few scant minutes.

Pyrene looked at him, green fire burning in her emerald orbs. Her face was set in a neutral, yet derisive look, as if he was a bug staring into the proud visage of a _war-goddess._

 _She was beautiful._

Pyr took notice of his stares, and gnashed her teeth.

 _She was also butthurt._

Jaune smirked.

 _Very deliciously butthurt._

Jaune had never felt so alive, except for that time they'd escaped from Omega.

Heart racing in his chest, Jaune replied with a smug, shit-eating grin. For the past fucking week, the Malachite Twins had literally been using his ass to clean the safehouse, owning his ass with games he wasn't familiar with. It seemed only fitting now that he be able to avenge himself against womankind.

Jaune brought a hand up, and beckoned her, "Bring it."

* * *

By the time Coco had returned with Pyr and Jaune's drinks, the coffee table was cracked all over, and missing a leg. Still, the valiant table refused to fall, ruin their game, and further piss off its two occupants.

Coco sighed. At the very least, the furniture was huntsman-insured. These things happened way too often for her tastes.

CLACKCLACKCKACLKCALCCKALCKACLAKCLACK!

Abandoning all pretense of friendly competition, Pyr and Jaune slammed the wooden pieces down on the board like they had each sworn blood feuds against wood. They were just smashing those blocks in there without hesitation or second-guessing.

"X-Ray!" Pyr snarled. If Coco didn't know better, she would say that spoons, forks, and various metallic objects seemed to be shaking in fear.

CLACK!

"Vav!" Jaune declared, voice impossibly low, his cape seeming to billow despite the fact that: one, they were indoors, and two, there was no wind.

CLACK!

"X-RAY!"

CLACK!

"VAV!"

CLACK!

"VAV!"

CLACK!

"X-RA–" Jaune seemed to catch himself, think twice, and grudgingly concede.

CLACK!

"X-RAY!"

CLACK!

"VAAAAAAAAAV!"

Sensing Coco's presence, both their heads turned as if they were one, pinning Coco in their gaze like a deer in headlights.

Coco gulped. Was it just her or was it exceptionally hot coming from their corner of the … Corner. She carefully deliberated her answer as she tried to avoid Pyr's cold, chilling emerald glare, and Jaune's fiery, sky-blue leer.

"Umm, I-I got your drinks?"

Almost as if something just _clicked_ , the sheer hostility in Jaune and Pyr's eyes just disappeared, evaporating like piss in the desert, or disappearing like clothes in a Vacuoan house party, and they both nodded approvingly.

"Thanks," they uttered in unison, as they both reached out and took their drinks.

Jaune looked down on the board, and shrugged.

"Good game, Pyr."

Pyrene looked down, then back up, and gave him a toothy grin.

"No, no. The game was all yours."

"Yeah," Coco stammered, pointing at the kitchen, "I'll just be… you know. Uhh, there, enjoy, please."

Jaune raised an eyebrow as Coco slinked away, "What's up with her? She looks spooked."

Pyrene shrugged, "I don't know. She might just be busy."

Jaune had to agree. He'd only taken one look at the cups she'd left them, and he'd already known they definitely weren't some cheap, easy-to-make drinks.

No, they were more akin to pieces of art.

Pyrene's Vale Autumn Special was served in a beautiful ceramic mug, decorated with berries all strung together artfully with stringy wires of sugar, topped off with a generous helping of cream, berry sauces and cinnamon carvings. The mug itself was in a brilliant, almost transparent topaz color, with a gradient of warm red that became a deep brown.

Pyrene nodded approvingly.

Jaune looked at his mug.

It appeared to be made from bone, a human skull to be exact, and the liquid inside it was so black it didn't reflect light.

He tilted his mug to the side, and the liquid barely moved, seeming to possess the consistency of sludge.

Maybe he should've read that Waiver before he signed it.

Pyrene sniffed the heavenly aroma emanating from her cup, and took a dainty sip. She shuddered, and a warm, contented smile spread across her face, like she had everything she'd ever wanted right in front of her.

Jaune took hold of his mug, and he could feel his aura cry out in horror.

 _Oh, c'mon, how bad could it be?_

Quashing his hesitation, and what was probably his self-preservation, Jaune took a hearty swig from the cup.

Actually, it wasn't bad. A little bitter, but Jaune could really appreciate the depth of its flavor. He put the cup down and opened his eyes.

And when he opened his eyes, Pyr was gone.

Actually, wait, not quite right. Jaune's eyes were wide, pupils dilating. Everything was gone.

 _Past the bright oppression of the sun, the clouds, and dust-generated lighting, he could see the stars, ever brighter than day. He could see time as it drove ever onward. Beyond the flimsy confines of flesh and bone, he could see everyone's limitless, beautiful souls._

 _Past their earthly vessels, all souls were equal in their inequality. Differing in color, in brilliance, in shape, in transparency; yet they were all beautiful, all breathtaking._

 _What was humanity? What was faunus? What was gender? What was money? What were all of these inconsequential details compared to the everlasting joyful mysteries of the soul?_

A tear slid down Jaune's eye, and he sniffled.

 _If the soul were truly eternal, beyond time and space, then was not life only an obstacle to eternity; a mere roadblock in the birth and ushering in of the next kalpa of reality?! Truly, were we not born to die?_

He –, actually, no wait, his head was on the table, his heartbeat was beating like a drunken drumline, he was sweating like a pig, and he couldn't breathe.

Jaune gasped for air, only for him to choke, _Oh God, there's something in my throat!_

"Jaune?!" Pyr asked, her hand all the way in his mouth, fingers deep in his throat in an attempt to make him puke what she perceived as poison, "Are you okay?"

"Hrrrglbhhrrg," Jaune tried his best to respond, despite her fingering of his orifice.

From the corner of his hazy vision, he could see Coco bury her face in her hands.

Yeah, he _really_ should've read that Waiver.

He felt a strong arm wrap itself around his shoulder, and he felt himself being hoisted up, and carried bridal style.

When his vision cleared, Jaune realized he was breathing fresh air, and all he could see for miles on end was azure, cloudless, infinite sky. Infinite, azure sky, and endless, vivid, emerald eyes.

"Jaune?" Pyr repeated, "I'm bringing you to the hospital, please hold on!"

Jaune blinked. They were in the streets of Vale, right outside the Cocoa Corner, and Jaune was still prone in Pyrene's powerful arms, laid in a bridal carry.

"Pyr!" Jaune squirmed, "I can walk."

"Are you sure?" Pyrene's eyes were wide and worried. Jaune cringed; the whole point of this thing was to make it up to her, not to further ruin her day.

As Jaune got to his feet, Pyrene spoke up, "There's a bench over there, maybe we could ask Miss Coco if we could simply enjoy our drinks in the fresh air?"

Jaune looked to where Pyr pointed, there, over by the hill, were a couple of wooden benches overlooking a gorgeous view of sunny Vale. He could still turn this thing around!

Jaune took a side glance back at Coco's, only to find unamused looks staring back at him from the establishment's patrons. He groaned, "Yeah, let's do that, may as well get the bill too." Jaune reached for the door, only for Pyrene's hand to beat him to it.

"Please," Pyr smiled, as she moved to hold the door open for him, "Let me."

From the corner of his eye, Jaune could see Coco desperately shake her head left and right.

 _Hold the door open for her, you asshole!_ , Coco tried to say.

 _Oh, shoot, I forgot to thank her!,_ Jaune realized, "Thanks, Pyr!"

Pyr graced him with a winning smile, as Coco graced him with a loud facepalm.

Moving to collect his belongings, Jaune reached for his backpack, only for a fair, dainty hand to once again beat him to it.

"Oh!" Jaune's eyes met Pyr's, "Really, I'm fine."

"Oh no, Jaune, please," Pyr slung his normal-sized backpack over her man-sized knapsack, "I insist. You might still be unwell!"

From the corner of his eye, Jaune could see the other customers give him the stink eye, while Coco herself seemed to be mouthing something pleadingly.

 _No,_ Coco mouthed, _Hell no._

Jaune raised an eyebrow. Jell-O? Nah, he waved it off. He wasn't hungry. _No thank you_ , he mouthed back.

Snarling, Coco immediately headed over to transfer the drinks into paper cups; but when Pyr was distracted, she immediately passed the bill to him, urgency etched onto her face.

Sky blue eyes met hers, and a flash of understanding struck Jaune.

 _Now's my chance!_ , Jaune realized, and before Pyr could even put her hand in her pocket; Jaune exclaimed, "I'm paying!"

Pyr simply blinked, but although Coco's response was minute, she offered him a small, approving nod. Perhaps he wasn't completely hopeless after all.

Jaune met her brown eyes and responded in kind, as he tried to fish out his wallet. That's weird, it was usually almost always in his –

Jaune's eyes widened.

He didn't have a wallet.

The memories came flooding back in, he threw his wallet at the old lady he'd borrowed Albus from! He didn't have shit right now!

 _Aw, come the_ fuck _on!_

The color slowly drained from his face.

From the corner of his eye, he could observe Coco's face change from expectant approval, to disbelief, to "Oh God, you gotta be fucking kidding me." If looks could kill, the expression on Coco's face would've exterminated all life on Remnant twice over.

Jaune continued fiddling his pockets uselessly.

From the corner of his eye, he could see ceramic cups crack under Coco's slowly-tightening grip.

Jaune resisted the urge to draw his sword and stab himself in the face. The place was reasonably-priced, but it wasn't cheap, although honestly, he could probably work some sort of deal out with Coco. No, what would really fucking hurt was going to be Pyr's reaction.

Jaune furrowed his eyebrows and released a deep sigh. Had it been he who was travelling from God knows where, only to be bumped by some weirdo who would go into convulsions, and insist for him to pay for his drink; he'd be outraged. She must fucking hate him right now.

 _Arcs never go back on their word_ , he'd promised her a good time, and then ended up completely ruining her day.

Goddammit, was there nothing he could do?

Steeling himself, he turned to Pyr, an apology on his lips, before he came face to face with the most amazing sight he had seen today, and that was saying something.

Her green eyes were alight with mirth, tears pooled in their corners; her shoulders shook, and her hands covered her mouth.

Pyr was _giggling._

Dumbfounded looks on both their faces, Jaune and Coco shared a glance.

"You lucky bastard," Coco struck him half-heartedly on the shoulder, knocking Jaune Arc flat on the ground.

* * *

Jaune was desperate.

Each of the Kingdoms were beautiful, there was no doubt about it. They said that the sunsets in Vacuo colored the deserts and skies of Vacuo in wonderful hues of gold, red and pink. They said that the Northern Lights in the farthest north of Northern Atlas painted its elegant, mirrorlike castles into beautiful kaleidoscopes of color. They said that the old, classic architecture of Old Mistral struck its beholders with an unshakable sense of awe and longing for the glories of old Mankind.

Vale had no golden sand, nor Auroras, nor the gilded columns and buildings of an age long past, but it had a charm all of its own.

In attempts to most efficiently use the limited amount of land it could keep safe from the Grimm, Vale had integrated its cities into the mountains and the plains, preserving wildlife and building their cities alongside Mother Nature herself. Cities were built on the hills, in the forests, and in small islands, indeed, Coco Adel's Café itself stood on a small hill, nestled lovingly by lightly-colored and sweet-smelling trees.

A mere couple of blocks past Coco's, on benches perched by the side of a cliff, Jaune Arc was desperate.

"Pyr, don't do this. It's not worth it. Pyr!"

Undeterred, Pyrene raised the paper cup holding Jaune's drink to her lips.

Jaune's heart sunk. He'd just let his new, best friend die.

However, instead of speaking in eldritch tongues and bleeding profusely from her eyes and ears, Pyr simply lowered the steaming cup of unholy joe and flashed him a small smile.

"I like it."

Eyes wide, and mouth agape, Jaune _very slowly_ brought his face really, uncomfortably close to Pyr's, and stared directly into her eyes.

Pyr smiled shyly and looked away, a faint tint of red spreading over her cheeks.

Cupping her cheeks experimentally, Jaune mushed her face in his hands. "You're alright!" Jaune laughed with relief, "Oh God, you're okay!"

"Jaune, please," Pyrene gave him an angelic grin, "It must've just been the stale air that made you feel unwell. The drink is fine."

Jaune's eyes slowly inched towards the murky black liquid; was it just him, or did it just bubble menacingly when he looked at it?

"Here!" Pyr passed him an identical paper cup holding her old drink, "Let's trade! Maybe you'll enjoy this more."

Where Jaune's old drink looked like it was mined from the deepest, darkest, pits of hell, Pyrene's Vale Autumn Special was nearly as angelic as its owner. Browns and Maroons swirled in the steaming cup seductively, bidding him closer, and closer. The glorious aroma of lightly-roasted beans, ground spices, and fresh berries assaulted his senses and threatened to drive him mad with desire.

 _No!_ Jaune tried to resist. He'd been hurt before by her kind. _All coffees were the same!_

 _Or am I?,_ a husky voice bubbled from the cup.

The drink that was the very personification of Fall's Bounty refused to relent. More and more did the fragrant tendrils of steam caress the young man's cheek, twisting his resolve and turning his legs into jelly. The coffee whispered sweet, sensual promises in his ear, of how she would wipe all his weariness away; _of how she would keep him awake and warm wherever he was._

Jaune tried to hold on.

 _Don't worry, baby_ , the cup pledged itself to him, _I'll make it all better._

Jaune hesitated for the last time.

 _It'll all be okay, Jaune._

Jaune took a very small sip, consigning himself to its loving embrace.

"Well," Pyrene took another sip of the embodiment of human misery, "How is it, Jaune?"

Jaune turned to her with teary eyes, "I've never tasted anything so good in my life."

"I'm glad you liked it." Pyrene smiled back, her fair skin and tan clothes framed pleasingly against the forest green of Vale's trees.

Jaune smiled back as a comfortable silence descended upon them, only interrupted by the occasional sip as they just watched the city move on a lazy, sunny day.

Jaune leaned back into the bench, and by chance, so did Pyrene.

Their hands touched; hers on his.

As one, their hands jerked back in surprise, as the flustered boy snapped his gaze to the blushing maiden. As one, they froze as her emerald met his blue.

Jaune's gaze was determined, and his face, _his lips_ , inched ever closer to Pyr's.

Pyr's emerald eyes went wide. He… he was actually doing this? Here?!

 _Oh God, is this happening? Should I stop him? Is anyone looking? Oh, wow, he's really going for it. I- Ohhh, boy._

Heart pounding in her chest, lost in his eyes, Pyr swallowed a gulp and leaned forward, eyes shut. She'd never done it before, but there and then, it felt so natural, _so right_ , to part her glossy lips ever so slightly and –

She felt something rough, dry, _and definitely not lips_ , touch her mouth.

"Here we go," Jaune dabbed at her mouth with a tissue, "You had something on your mouth."

Pyr blinked once. Pyr blinked twice. Pyr blinked thrice before regaining her thoughts.

"Thank you, Jaune," she spoke, her tone slightly more clipped than before. Oh crap, did he do anything again?

Jaune opened his mouth to speak, until he heard clamoring from afar.

Pyr seemed to hear it too, and they both turned their heads. Down from below the hill they were on, by one of Vale's bigger streets; both Jaune and Pyr could spot colorful figures, signs and banners in their hands, marching straight towards the Council Spire.

"They're faunus," Pyr spoke, answering his unasked query.

Jaune raised a hand above his eyes to block the sun. Sure enough, he could spot signs and boards and banners carrying different statements, but the same message.

"The Faunus are not animals!"

"Our time will come!"

"We will have equality!"

Jaune's eyes narrowed and he downed the cup of coffee. It didn't taste good anymore.

He didn't need to look at Pyr to figure that she was feeling similar. She'd stopped blushing, and instead, a façade of cool indifference settled on her face. Rather than lean back on the bench, she'd straightened her back, and planted her heeled feet flat on the pavement.

In a split second's notice, she could be up on her feet and in a fighting stance. Jaune could spot her hands twitch towards weapons that weren't there. Pyr clicked her tongue in annoyance.

"Perhaps we should find another place to relax, Jaune?" she asked.

From the other side of the street, Jaune eyed a thick cluster of armored police take formation opposite the protesters. They raised their riot shields menacingly, and even the mob of protesters and rioters gave pause.

"Jaune?" she tried again.

A heavyset man stepped forward from the throng of faunus. Raising his sign threateningly at the assembled shieldwall, he threw his hands in the air, and began shouting.

Jaune squinted. The message was indistinct, but Jaune had heard enough of their rhetoric to suspect the man was a rabble-rouser from the Fang. Whatever he said whipped the crowd into frenzy, hesitation and self-preservation thrown into the wind, replaced with suicidal courage, the faunus protesters charged and pushed into the line of shields.

Jaune's grip on the metal railing tightened, and – he blinked. When had he stood up and walked all the way to the edge?

"Jaune," Pyrene placed a comforting hand by his shoulder.

"What do you think of the White Fang?"

Jaune winced. The words came out of his mouth before he could think, but…

Images of the hellscapes of Camp Omega flashed through his head. Faunus unnaturally thin, bodies without the protection of aura were exposed to the worst of aura's effects. He remembered the skin of the older faunus they had rescued, burnt, cut, bruised, and weathered by ice. The only smell he could remember of that place was the corpselike stench of Grimm and the acrid tang of blood.

Yet, did he do the right thing? He'd trusted White Fang Member Keppel Azure "Kaz" Miller and Ex-Guard Gaston Alabaster with the protection and reintegration of the faunus they had liberated, but he did nothing more than that. Were the now-refugees being smuggled, integrated into honest lives, or were they now being fed propaganda and turned into living weapons that the Fang could later send to die?

If the lives they saved would take up more arms, prolong this conflict further, and hurt more innocents, in the end, would it have been the better choice to let them die and rot in that godforsaken camp?

In the end, both the SDC and the Fang kept quiet. Nothing had really changed, the SDC still resumed its shady operations, and the Fang still resumed their raids on said operations. There wasn't anything significantly big, and Fang operations outside of Vale _seemed_ to wane.

Atlas declared that the end of faunus extremism was near.

To Jaune, it simply felt like the calm before the storm.

Thinking about this topic made Jaune's palms itch differently. Unlike the light, irritating, usual itch Jaune had come to associate with immediate danger, this was a steady, grating pain. The kind that made Jaune want to just swing his sword. He'd been entertaining the thought of just calling the damn fox faunus, but… well, he and Kaz didn't exactly part in the best of terms…

Pyrene removed her hand from his shoulder. Her eyes were gentle.

"The White Fang," Pyr echoed. Jaune nodded.

Clouds had begun to obscure the sun.

"I confess; I don't know much about them," Pyr spoke, her tone was smooth as silk, but behind it, her resolve was hard as steel, "I understand that they have legitimate grievances towards the Kingdoms, but…"

"But?" Jaune turned his body to face her.

"I cannot condone their actions," Pyr's eyes grew hard, "Violence in this issue shall only beget further violence."

"Can you blame them?" Jaune snarled, feeling as if he felt he was insulted personally. "The faunus were– _ARE_ being oppressed. Can you blame them for standing up for themselves?"

"Innocents suffer as a result of their crimes," Pyr gave him a sharp look. "They do horrible things. They rob freight trains, prey on trade routes, and murder dozens in their rampages. Are these acts supposed to somehow win them respect instead of fear and hate?"

In the background, albeit stifled by distance, the sound of breaking glass and pained shouts could be heard.

"They have no choice, it's the only way they can get results!" Jaune argued, "Would you prefer they just lie down and take it?"

"There are legal recourses for them to take, Jaune," Pyr spoke, tone unchanging, "Without them having to resort to committing murder and acts of terror."

The sounds of shouting intensified, and above the buzzing voices, one could hear the rush of high-pressure water slamming warm bodies into the ground hard.

"How long exactly have the Fang been protesting before they even _thought_ of taking up arms," Jaune fixed Pyr with a glare, "Did anything actually change? Do you seriously think the faunus can win in court against the SDC?"

"Change takes time, Jaune," Pyr was exasperated, "Did you think the Council, or Ozpin, or anyone else could just wave their hands and rid the world of this prejudice?"

"No, but they could _do_ something!"

From the distance, smoke rose into the cloudy air. Bystander and protester alike rubbed and forced water into their bloodshot eyes.

"They _are_ ," Pyr's voice was a pleading whisper, "Little by little, things are changing. Day by day educators try to revise whitewashed histories of the Faunus Revolution. Day by day, lawyers and legislators argue and attempt to push forth better laws and policies. Things _will_ get better, Jaune."

"Do such small steps matter when things are this bad?" Jaune let out a bitter scoff. "How many faunus and people will have suffered by the time this change finally comes around?"

"They're trying, Jaune," Pyr reached out her hand, her eyes pleading, yet hopeful. " _We're_ trying."

Jaune reached out his hand to take hers, but before he did, he flinched.

As evening started to unfold, the faunus protesters dispersed. Yet, even as they dabbed at painful eyes, colorful bruises, and bleeding wounds; more than a few faunus looked back, baring their fangs at the crossed axes that symbolized Vale.

From across the street, the crossed axes of Vale emblazoned on their badges, the police dragged their fallen and wounded comrades to safety. More than a few lawmen looked back, hands twitching towards their weapons.

"…We should find some place to go," Jaune flashed her a sheepish smile, as the last rays of sunlight began to fade away.

"Yes," Pyr mirrored his expression, a tad sadder than his, "Let's."

As Jaune strode forth, Pyr turned to follow.

He did not take her hand.

Pyr bit her lip as her heart fell. Jaune obviously felt passionate about this topic for it to affect him like this, perhaps she should –

Jaune stopped suddenly, and Pyr bumped right into him, sending him sprawling on the floor once again.

"I'm sorry!" exclaimed Pyr as she once again reached a hand out, yet, Jaune did not take this one either. Rather, his face was shocked, and his eyes were focused above.

Pyr followed his line of sight, and she gasped at what she saw.

Smoke bellowed from an out-of-control bullhead as it spiralled helplessly towards the earth.

Adept at observing objects travelling in high-speeds, Pyr instantly noted that something was off. The cockpit windshield, made to resist everything short of Giant Nevermore feathers, was penetrated and shattered, the bullhead's wings themselves were bent at unnatural angles and damaged, and the hatch doors were deformed, as if something, or more likely _someone_ had been shooting at it with powerful dust-based projectiles.

 _This was no accident._

She waved her fingers, and hidden deep within her packs, she could feel her weapons respond. At a moment's notice, she could have her tools tear out from her pack and into potential foes. It would be an inconvenience to ruin her traveling equipment, but they were freebies from her sponsors anyway.

"Jaune," she whispered, voice hushed, eyes still locked on the falling bullhead, "Stick close to me."

There was no response, but given the manner in how Jaune carried himself, it was likely he was in shock.

With the sound of thunder, the bullhead crashed into a smoking heap by what looked to be one of Vale's many forests. Pyrene released a breath she didn't know she was holding; at the very least, save for the passengers of that flying vessel, no one else would be hurt.

Still, it didn't mean they were safe. Whatever brought down the bullhead was likely to still be in the nearest vicinity, and Pyrene had no intentions of finding out whether they were friend or foe.

 _Or did she?_

She bit her lip, while she was loathe to sacrifice her much-valued anonymity, she had still embarked on this path wishing to be a defender of mankind. Her true identity was well-known, and no doubt she would easily be able to join any investigation teams that would already be forming. The dust-damage on the bullhead wasn't dealt by some amateur or thug, the VPD might need all the strength it could get.

Mind made, she turned to her, _her friend,_ to inform him of her decision, only to realize one tiny detail.

Jaune wasn't there.

In the distance, from the corner of her eye, she could spot a familiar, if slightly damaged white cape flapping in the wind, its owner running closer and closer to the wreck of the bullhead.

* * *

"What," Roman Torchwick dusted the filth from his coat. His emergency landing strategy didn't exactly leave him clean, "The fuck was that?"

His rescuer and partner in crime, Neopolitan, merely shrugged nonchalantly like he had simply commented on the weather.

They both stood on a roofdeck of a building several blocks away. The moment Roman realized that the girl with him wasn't his current employer, Cinder Fall; he had called on Neo and escaped, using the impostor as a diversion.

"That wasn't Cinder," Roman bit out.

Neo's eyes changed to brown and pink as she gave him a pointed look, like she was saying, _You stupid brah?_

"Well, excuse me for not noticing," Roman defended, "But I was actually working and getting things done!"

Neo smirked, and put both her fists together, before suddenly opening them in imitation of an explosion.

"Please, I can always procure more dust in a heartbeat," Roman scoffed, "Even more so if I don't have to rely on Junior's apes to provide the muscle."

Neo smiled back before her expression grew dark. She narrowed heterochromic eyes at him and raised an eyebrow.

"What do we do now?" Roman raised a cigar to his mouth, "Good question."

Neo ran a delicate, manicured finger across her neck.

"Cinder's not dead," Roman lit the cigar, "We'd have heard about it by now."

Neo raised another eyebrow, shrugged and gave him a thumbs down.

"She may not be as competent as we thought?" Roman interpreted.

Neo nodded.

Roman exhaled smoke into the air, like a miniature version of the flaming bullhead wreck that was releasing mountains of it to the sky.

"Powerful though she might look, we must acknowledge that perhaps our fiery acquaintance cannot walk her talk." Roman muttered, "Perhaps we should be looking into severing ties or finding new means of employment."

Neo pointed at the sky.

Roman blinked. What was she trying to say? Roman looked closer, into the shattered moon.

It was shining brightly, in the shape of a crescent, or an arc.

"Ahh, Arc."

Every decent criminal worth his salt, or still alive for that matter, knew to keep an ear to the ground. Even the most trivial bits of information could imply so much more. The presence of even the tiniest twitches on the faces of hardened criminals spoke just as loudly if they were absent.

That news of a White Fang Commander rising out of nowhere and making a key joint Atlesian-SDC mining facility disappear overnight certainly set some tongues wagging. Roman tapped into all his contacts, save for Junior who had also coincidentally disappeared, and each story came out different. It had been a month now, and people were still talking about it.

Some say the Commander was a personal officer and peer of Adam Taurus himself. The Atlesian based contacts claim that the SDC hired him to attack their own facility to fabricate an excuse to strengthen their private armies. Others whispered that he was a spy sent by Ozpin to spy on the White Fang. Even more people claimed that Ozpin sent him to sabotage Atlas for its rampant militarization.

A couple say that he was born into a life of pain and brutality, haunted by the demons of his past, thirsting for the virgin flesh and blood of the Schnee heiresses as his life descended further into the fiery bowels of hell.

And some fox dude who liked to wear aviator shades at night preached that the man did it out of the goodness of his heart.

 _Hahaahahaha, sure._

The one thing all the stories had in common though, was that the commander was an _Arc._

 _A fallen hero, eh_ , Roman chuckled, _A man after my own heart._

To put it simply, something big was happening, and no one knew what the fuck was going on.

What everyone did know is that Atlas began turtling up security tighter than Goodwitch's legs. Smuggling operations, even the smallest ones no one gave a damn about were looked into. Security Companies, the pseudo private armies of large Atlesian conglomerates, began replacing _everyone_ who couldn't account for every minute of his fucking day. Safe houses people thought were secure were suddenly raided. Undercover agents in various crime rings began surfacing, bringing down groups with barely any evidence at all.

 _Something had Atlas spooked._

Rumor had it that Ironwood was minutes away from declaring Martial Law.

God, gods, dust, whatever, bless that unsubtle bastard.

The Mistralians had a word that stood for both crisis and opportunity, and for the criminal underworld, this truly was a crisis, and what an opportunity it was for Roman!

White Fang arms dealers found themselves fresh out of stock, like the filthy animals had been able to recruit a zoo to their cause. The SDC had decreased its amounts of dust shipments, and with his efforts in separating Vale from its dust, prices were going through the roof. Dust smugglers that _hadn't_ been caught by Atlas were probably venerating the mysterious Arc as their new patron saint. Police departments in Kingdoms that weren't Atlas had their hands full as they suddenly found their hands full with faunus refugees that appeared out of thin air. Even shady mercenary groups found better employment as the civil unrest from the Kingdoms roused the Grimm.

Roman _feared_ Cinder.

She was absolutely implacable, unstoppable, and worst of all, vengeful beyond reason. If these rumors were to be believed, then these were traits she shared with the Arc as well.

A counterbalance, and a possible way out.

"Why, yes, dear Neo, I do believe you're right," Roman took a deep drag of his cigar, "Arrange a social call."

Neo simply smiled at him, pink and brown eyes shuffling positions with every wink and blink.

She flashed a thumbs up at him.

Roman's grin turned predatory.

 _Neo knows where he is._

"How long have you known the whereabouts of our mysterious … friend, then?" Roman grinned.

 _Just now_ , Neo twirled a hand nonchalantly.

"Really?", Roman took one more drag from his cigar when Neo simply pointed down.

Roman's eyes followed his companion's dainty finger.

Right under their vantage point, on the streets, he could spot a slightly damaged white cape flapping in the wind, its owner running towards the wreck of his recently abandoned bullhead.

Roman's eyes took note of the sword strapped to his hip and the armor under his cloak.

A lot less showy than the weapons and armor worn by the Seven Sisters, but Roman had stolen enough valuables to identify fakes and replicas. Those weapons were forged in the same style using similar materials, that kid was an Arc.

"Looks like that social call's going to be earlier than expected," Roman rubbed his gloved hands with glee.

At Roman's side, Neo wrinkled her nose in distate, as if she had just smelled something disgusting. She pointed several blocks away, and Roman put on his binoculars.

Faunus, notably of the cat, and dog variety, wearing bulging coats that _oh so obviously screamed concealed weapon_ , were calmly and inconspicuously making their way towards the bullhead as well. Well, as inconspicuously as they could, at least, for people walking _towards_ the crash when everyone was screaming and running away. Roman chuckled, White Fang assassins, here? Timing was just too good. He'd heard that the talks with Adam Taurus had gone sour, but did Cinder really piss the bull off so hard that he'd tipped off the cops and sent killers after em?

"Looks like tonight's going to be more interesting than expected," Roman rubbed his gloved hands with glee.

 _Could be more,_ Neo gestured, her grin growing feral, _Wanna have some fun?_

"No, thank you. Goodwitch's driven me rather weary, I think," With a rogueish smile to match hers, Roman tipped his hat.

 _Chicken_ , she winked, pink and brown exchanging places as she dropped off the roof of the tall building.

Alone, Roman leaned back, made himself comfortable, and from his coat, produced another fine cigar.

"Looks like tonight's going to be much, much, more interesting than expected," Roman rubbed his gloved hands with glee.

Jaune forced aura into his legs, and his feet dashed on the asphalt with force.

As soon as he had seen the bullhead fall, Jaune had exclaimed a quick "We need to help them!" and began rushing to where he thought the crash would be; except now that he thought about it, Pyr looked deep in thought and might not have heard him. He also may or may not have squeaked it out in the same high-pitch a girl would scream at.

 _Goddamn, he had to work on his heroic voice._

Still, he didn't have time to waste. No doubt the VPD would still be reeling after that large protest-turned violence, so they might not be able to respond to the crash in time. Jaune wasn't taking any chances. The pillars of smoke filling the night sky bade him to run faster. Given the density of airborne Grimm, bullhead hulls were generally also designed to cushion crash landings, so even civilians could often survive sudden Nevermore attacks. Except that much smoke spurting out ahead could only mean that the entire thing was on fire, and maybe ready to blow, and even huntsmen would be hard-pressed to survive such an ordeal.

He wasn't strong, that he knew.

He couldn't change the world.

He wasn't a hero that could miraculously solve Remnant's socioeconomic woes. He himself was hard-pressed to beat Ursae. Hell, he couldn't even give Pyr a decent time.

But they said he had lots of aura.

He could, at the very least, do this.

Jaune ground his teeth, forcing more and more aura into his legs recklessly, the heavy armor not helping his already pitifully pathetic running speed.

Liberal amounts of adrenalin, aura, and sketchy cosmic coffee pumped into his blood, Jaune had finally, _finally_ reached the clearing. Fire from the bullhead had already began spreading to the surrounding trees, the hot flames almost blindingly bright to his darkness-attuned eyes. Still, while the fires grew thick, they weren't at the uncontrollable levels he couldn't wade through.

He'd arrived just in time.

Dousing himself with water from his canteen, he stripped off his dripping-wet cloak and wrapped it around his head into a makeshift mask. The smoke and fumes were getting thick, and aura didn't prevent people from inhaling it and passing out. With a deep breath to steady himself, Jaune pressed on, flaring his aura to grant his flesh protection against the flames.

Despite the situation, Jaune wore a wry smile. The flames licked at his body and singed his clothes, but compared to the fires Rouge employed, this may as well have been comfortable.

A quick glance at the front of the bullhead informed Jaune that the pilot's seats were empty, so that left the main cabin, then. Jaune attempted to open the haphazardly-closed hatch doors, but damage had further deformed the doors and sealed them shut.

Despite the smoke, Jaune risked it and took another steadying breath. Channelling aura into his hands, Jaune grasped the door, and strained at them with herculean effort. As metal screeched and gnashed on metal, producing sparks bright even in the flames, Jaune was slowly, but surely prying the twisted barriers open.

Eyes darting wildly, still slowly opening the door, Jaune quickly surveyed the cabin interior.

There had to be someone. He didn't see anyone fall out of the bullhead.

 _There!_ Jaune's eyes lit up as they scanned the farthest part of the room. Slumped by the far walls, was the bullhead's sole occupant, her green aura flickering weakly, still protecting her from the flames, even as blood trickled down her face.

Heart emboldened with new hope, Jaune strode forth into the burning room, undaunted by the flames, scooping her light frame out from the bullhead floors. He carried her like a bride, gently so as not to hurt her, but tightly as if he were worried death itself might take her from him.

 _Got her_.

If any of his Sisters were here, they'd have put out the fire, and rescued this girl much quicker than he could. He was willing to bet that his Dad or Mom would even be able to pluck the bullhead out of the air and stop this crash in the first place. _No,_ Jaune Arc knew he wasn't a hero.

 _Except._

He was here, and they weren't. He had to make do.

Seeing no one else in the bullhead, Jaune sprinted out of the flames. He didn't stop running until the wind was cool and the grass was green.

Adrenalin fading, Jaune gently laid his charge on the grass as he himself sunk to his knees. Sirens blared in the distance, and even from there, Jaune could spot the familiar red of fire trucks making their way to his location. Crawling to, and leaning on the trunk of a nearby tree, Jaune finally, truly, took in the moonlit appearance of the woman he rescued.

Jaune was not filled with the elation of survival, nor was he filled with the same good feeling one typically received from having performed a good deed.

No, the more Jaune looked, the more bewildered he had become.

Memories came flashing through his head. Memories of green fire, of revolvers, of illusions, of bandits, of stealing Albus, and of narrow escapes.

The last time he had seen his charge, she had been dressed in simple clothes and torn leathers. Her mint green hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail, and she was covered in a sheen of dirt and sweat from travel.

Back then, she had looked like a thief or a bandit.

Now?

This time, she was wearing a more elaborate, more intricate white top on the olive undershirt. The leather chaps she wore on her white shorts were new and of premium quality; Jaune ran his fingers through the material, they were soft enough so as not to impede movement, but hard enough to turn aside a blade. Her hair was tied into two long locks on each side in the back.

This time, she looked like a Huntress.

Jaune's eyes narrowed, and his heart hammered in his chest. It had been, what, a month, three weeks since this girl had attacked him en route to Vale. Living with his sisters, Jaune knew the fell magicks that a decent makeover, hair extensions, and contacts were capable of, yet at the same time, Jaune needed definitive proof that this truly was one of the bandits that tried to kill him.

There was only one thing you couldn't really fake.

To a huntsman, a weapon was an extension of his or her soul. Huntsmen built them, broke them, repaired them, modified them, broke them again, and modified them further. Most trained exclusively with them, bathed with them, ate with them, and did unspeakable things with them until the line between 'weapon' and 'extension of the body' blurred.

Simply put, most huntsmen were used to wielding only their weapons.

If there was one thing you couldn't fake, it was this.

Reaching for her hips, Jaune pulled out her weapons from their holsters.

In his hands, Jaune Arc beheld a very familiar, if not slightly modified and repainted, pair of revolvers.

Beneath him, bloody and unconscious, Emerald Sustrai mumbled a name in her sleep.

* * *

 **Chapter 11 End**

* * *

 **AN: I find writing interaction the most tedious things to do, then I realized that if I found it boring, you guys probably would too, so I went around, asking my friends for the cringiest way to ruin dates, and voila. Hopefully I got the funny cringe and not the cringe cringe.**

 **I'm still looking for more ideas, though. Comment me your most horrible date experiences please. Boring talky stuff hopefully finished soon.**


	13. Chapter 12: Usurper

**AN: Really sorry this chapter came out late. Beta had to study up for a Japanese Language Proficiency test and work is really getting hard. Also organization names are hard. Also Steam sales.**

* * *

"You'll do this for me, won't you, Emerald?" Cinder Fall spoke, hauntingly illuminated by the dying embers of their campfire.

"Of course, Cinder," Emerald Sustrai replied eagerly, attempting to shift about in her cot carefully, mindful of the injuries she had suffered from the White Rider's mysterious attack.

Even now, days after the failed negotiation with Adam Taurus of the White Fang, thinking of _him_ still made her flinch.

She remembered the negotiations, where despite all logic, Adam Taurus succumbed to his base, _animal_ instincts and rejected their… Cinder's offer, and bullheadedly decided to press forward against the Kingdoms all on his own.

She remembered drawing first blood when they ambushed him later.

She remembered being in the thick of the fighting against Taurus's White Fang, using her Semblance to obscure herself even in the midst of battle, weaving in and out of disorganized formations, and striking at openings, gaps, and weaknesses.

She remembered feeling an unearthly presence arise from the side of the wood, glowing an unnatural white as it ascended into the sky, falling to the earth as if it were a meteorite, shining with all the radiance of a star.

She remembered pain, as the full weight of both rider and ridden crushed down on her with all the force of a mountain, breaking flesh, and fracturing bone, sending her tumbling into the Valean forests.

She remembered fear, gazing into his ghostly form, even as his frayed cloak and bright blue eyes told her she was gazing into a phantom, even as storm winds blew and lightning struck at his bidding.

Then, she remembered nothing more.

"You can count on me," Emerald gave Cinder a cocky grin, "I'll hold the fort here while you find us support."

"'Hold the fort', seriously?" Mercury Black, sitting by the other side of the fire, sneered, "We're leaving you behind because you'd slow us down, Em. We'd make better time travelling around _without_ dragging around a cripple."

"Shut up!" Emerald snarled, sitting up despite the throbbing pain, "I remember you just standing still with your mouth open too, you just got lu-"

"That's enough, both of you," Cinder whispered, and both the assassin and thief flinched.

"You are both correct," Cinder continued, staring into the colors of the dying flame, "It would be terribly inconvenient to travel with an injured companion..."

Emerald stilled, eyes downcast.

"...But with the location of the Fall Maiden obscured to us, I also need someone in Vale." Cinder looked deep into Emerald's eyes, "Someone I can trust."

Emerald looked up, expression hopeful, heart racing.

"While you ensure our operations run smoothly in Vale, I also need you to keep your eyes and ears open for any trace to our quarry," Cinder fed a piece of wood into the flames.

Emerald pointed a thumb to herself, "You can rely on m-"

"And, that of our enigmatic Arc acquaintance."

Emerald faltered.

"Will you do that for me, Emerald?" Cinder faced her again, expression cold, yet eyes an inferno.

As Emerald gazed into those fiery depths, she had remembered the first few conversations she had had with Cinder.

"Follow me, and you'll never be hungry again," Cinder had once said.

Emerald's eyes looked up to hers, to _Cinder's_ smoldering eyes.

"Thank you," she felt her mouth move.

Cinder Fall and Emerald Sustrai both knew the answer to her request before she'd even opened her mouth.

"I'll do it, Cinder," Emerald whispered, "I'll do it."

Amidst dreams of smoke and fire, the eyes of Emerald Sustrai stirred underneath their eyelids.

* * *

 **Arc of the Revolution**

 **Chapter 12: Usurper**

* * *

 _"It's not about overpowering an enemy. It's about taking away what power they have, and we will, in time."_

 **-Cinder Fall,** ** _RWBY. Vol. 2: Extracurricular_**

* * *

 _"...No piece is made Black or White; the only thing that marks them as friend or foe just really happens to be which directions they're facing... What I love most about this game is that pieces you capture_ can _be brought back,_ under your control."

 **-Jaune Arc,** ** _Arc of the Revolution: Chapter 11_**

* * *

Little is known of the circumstances leading to what is now known as the Rescue at Camp Omega, or what others call the formation of the Third Jaune Arc Crater. Somehow predicting a powerful Grimm attack strong enough to overwhelm even the Atlas Military itself, Jaune Arc moved his small but loyal band of followers to not only rescue thousands of faunus, but also the lives of his enemies, Omega's Atlesian Defenders.

Arc had managed to predict a Grimm attack _even before_ the Grimm had gathered, a feat that stumps modern strategists and tacticians furiously to this day. Aware of the shortcomings of Atlesian communication technology in those stormy mountains, Arc was able to exploit both the Grimm and the Atlesians, shrouding himself in snow and static, stalking towards the camp as if ghosts and wraiths.

It is known by the personal admission of Adam Taurus, a powerful, if not the most powerful leader of the Fang in those troubled days, that he himself refused support for the mission. Despite being refused aid by Taurus, Jaune Arc was able to take advantage of the White Fang's decentralized leadership, and win over the Redwings, a minor faction of the White Fang primarily focused on providing medical care to faunus refugees and protecting faunus welfare and wellbeing. Mustering unparalleled reserves of courage and cunning, the Arc Hero and his followers were able to subdue all the base's defenders, and even convince them of the righteousness of their cause.

Undeterred by impossible odds, being outnumbered three to one (thirty to one, counting the Grimm), the presence of Winter Schnee (in those days, a Specialist in the Atlas Military) and her three hundred man task force, and a lack of support that would've crushed lesser men; Jaune Arc pressed on to victory.

Riding atop his personal war machine, the Arc Weapon Ferrum Mors, a bipedal weapons platform shaped like a throne; Jaune Arc's inspirational leadership forged humanity and faunus into one, and drove back the vile hordes of the Grimm to the shadows from whence they came. Even as Winter Schnee betrayed the Arc Hero and fired upon defenseless transport ships, some of which were carrying her own men, Jaune Arc did not lose composure. Possessing neither ship weapons nor fear, Jaune Arc was said to have boarded the Schnee Heiress's vessel singlehandedly and personally subdued every enemy combatant aboard.

According to famed faunus scholar Pinkie P., in a fit of rapturous obsession, Winter Schnee would escape back to Atlas and attempt to fabricate Jaune Arc's Ferrum Mors for herself. Among Winter Schnee's highly-criticized 'innovations' were to cowardly cover up the mech's cockpit, the effect of which made the machine look like a toaster with legs.

The metal box-looking contraption would later be known as the Atlesian Paladin-290. To Atlas's great shame, and the New Fang's great amusement, the Schnee would insist on the mass production and integration of the inferior Ferrum Mors knockoff in the Atlesian Military.

Atlas does not acknowledge nor deny these claims.

Due to the damage caused by what was no doubt a climactic battle between the Arc Hero and Teamkiller Schnee; Winter Schnee's airship would later crash into the wilderness of the Grimmlands.

For any other hunter, such conditions would have proven a death sentence.

To Jaune Arc, this was simply a very enthusiastic walk in the woods.

Despite this glorious victory however, two thousand rescued faunus laborers were but a drop in the ocean when compared to the vast multitudes still suffering under the hands of uncaring masters. It is known that companies reliant on such heavy labor had used this 'attack' to increase security and further tighten the leashes they kept on the faunus.

This, in turn, provoked fears of greater retaliation from the White Fang all over Remnant. During these times, gangs, organizations, and even small armies of faunus, all of them with some affiliation to the Fang, had begun gathering in Vale, causing the military and the VPD to anticipate a large increase in violent crimes in the Southern Kingdom.

Unusual for an organization so divided, each primary source spoke of only one motive.

They had come to rally under a leader.

The question then, was which one?

Adam Taurus, Jaune Arc, or someone else entirely?

 **-Velvet Scarlatina,** ** _White Knight: a Biography,_** **Chapter 3**

* * *

"Cinder Fall," Adam Taurus snarled, "This is her doing."

His faithful Lieutenant nodded gruffly, "Something's going on, and I don't like it."

Adam merely grunted in response, turning around and taking his seat at the head of the table.

Beneath his stark, bone-white mask, Adam's eyes narrowed, lingering on every single one of his trusted subordinates. For a brief moment, his eyes flickered to his right, to where Blake Belladonna would usually stand, before he calmly closed his eyes and refocused on the task at hand.

The War Room was a dark, simple room. The centerpiece of the simple hall was a massive table, a three-dimensional map of Remnant, with all its mountains and known seas carved into it. The walls were bare and undecorated, save for the large banners of the White Fang hanging from the supports.

Adam regarded the flag, the scarlet beast head snarling, clawed, on a white field. He remembered the Fang's old flag, remembered the old, wise, calm beast staring ahead, circumscribed on that same field of white, and felt the urge to scoff.

Naïve fools.

All governments survived, _thrived_ , first and foremost, because they held the monopoly on violence, _because they could enforce their laws and order_. What use were laws without men to police and enforce them? Take away the police, take away the huntsmen, take away the Grimm, and man would be at his brothers' throat like a beast.

Political institutions, economics, who got what, when and where, all of these were dictated by people who held the guns.

In the end, it was power that mattered; those who had the fairest laws, and noblest of intentions had fallen, to either those who bore arms, or to the maws of the Grimm.

And yet, the people, sheep as they were, refused to see the swords hanging above their heads.

If there was one thing right in Cinder's _human_ drivel, it was that the Kingdoms were being held by trust.

While the Council ruled and dictated policy, it was Ozpin that held the reins of Vale. Some would scoff and belittle him as simply a school headmaster, but Adam knew better. If Ozpin decided to rebel, to paint the Council that had treated his huntsmen and soldiers like the weapons and pawns they were, who would the Huntsmen remain loyal to? The Council that had left Mountain Glenn to die, that had sent their comrades to perish, or with the kind, fatherly, wise headmaster that was third parent, commanding officer, and teacher all in one?

Yet, the Council _trusted_ Ozpin to some extent, and so there was peace.

Atlas combined her Combat Schools and Armies together, and most of the Kingdoms had decreased their standing armies to give way to a World Police Force: the Atlesian Military. Yet, if the Atlesians were to go on a warpath, no Kingdom, perhaps not even the combined strengths of Mistral, Vale, and Vacuo could stop it.

But in the end, Mistral, Vale, and Vacuo _trusted_ Atlas, and so there was peace.

The people were drunk on peace, choosing to see the comforting lie instead of the painful truth that their civilizations were under siege by the Grimm externally –

The grand doors to the War Room opened, and the fearsome masks of his most trusted Lieutenants strode into the room.

–And internally. Adam smirked.

Take away that trust, _divide them_ , and the Kingdoms would fall apart, breaking like chaff in the wind.

Cinder had good ideas, Adam had to admit. For that, she'd only suffer _moderately_ , as compared to what he'd originally planned for her the first he laid eyes on her.

His men had taken their seats, their bone-white masks staring at his, illuminated grimly by the weak candlelight.

Despite their discipline, they were getting antsy, Adam could tell. No amount of training or paperwork could abate the irritation from the fact that he and his men were holed up deep _fucking_ underground. Fights between his grunts were becoming the norm, rather than the exception. The base, instead of being the safe refuge they had originally felt it to be, was slowly developing a tense air.

Adam grunted. Blake's betrayal, the escape of the SDC personnel on that freight train, Cinder's ambush, Jaune Arc, there were too many uncertainties making themselves known, and it was affecting morale. His Fang had to go into hiding to evade the Atlesian response, as well as any possible reprisals a vengeful Cinder might have up her sleeve. All well and good, at first, he and his men could've used the time to rest and plan their next move, but as soon as they had resurfaced, they had found themselves smack dab in the middle of the biggest Atlesian Mobilization since the Faunus Rights Revolution.

 _What the fuck had happened?!_

It was then that the task force, filled with idealists from Vale and a number of Redwings returned.

Adam repressed a shudder.

 _Camp Omega was fucking gone._

No one could give him a straight answer to what happened. All he knew was that one of the largest SDC labor camps, one Atlas itself had a personal investment in, was gone overnight. There was barely even a trace of the Camp in those forlorn mountains, the only sign that it existed being the rubble from what used to be its humongous walls.

The survivors returned, with almost negligible casualties, yet, as of late, they'd been very tight-lipped, and trained with an almost religious fervor. They had taken to wearing white cloaks over their uniforms, with hoods that covered their faces, reaching down to their knees.

With the survivors came the rumors. Some say that under those capes were men and women without faunus traits, _humans_. Others said that they had salvaged a massive suit of armor, piece by piece, gathered somewhere in the Grimmlands, into some secret location even Adam was not privy to. And even more people spoke of how those survivors had started acting stiffer, gruffer, more disciplined, as if their spines had been replaced with steel.

Yet, rumors weren't all the survivors returned with.

Along with the survivors, were around two _fucking_ thousand miners turned refugees from the Camp, and each of their stories turned wilder and more fanciful to the last.

Fearing the worst, Adam had had to order _spies to infiltrate his own organization_ just to figure out what had happened, while Keppel Azure Miller and Jaune Arc had simply and unceremoniously dumped the not-insignificant task of treating, rehabilitating, and settling the two thousand refugees they'd just rescued off to him.

Adam Taurus was the scourge of humanity. He was bloody vengeance incarnate, sent by the gods to punish humanity, _and he had spent the last goddamn couple of weeks doing paperwork._

Still, at the very least, his spies finally assured him they had some sort of clue as to what had happened in Omega, and as soon as they finished their reports, he'd get right down into it.

"Status report!," Adam barked, and one of his officers looked at him with dead eyes under his mask.

"Two hundred refugees, fully recovered, with complete documentation, pocket money and jobs, smuggled into the Nestico Region," the faunus recited nearly robotically, "Total expenditures, thirty-six thousand."

 _Damn,_ Adam sighed, _And to think they were already cutting costs off of that._

Another one of his officers rose from his seat and gave his report.

"A hundred and sixty, Ingeid Region. Twenty-nine thousand."

 _Crap._

"Hundred twenty, distributed in Elvale and Rondine. Costs: Twenty-eight thousand."

 _Shit._

"Another hundred twenty, Balmore and Larocca. Thirty-thousand, we needed to get medication for them."

 _Fuck._

Instead of using the White Fang's resources to strike at the enemy, their bullheads and warriors were instead smuggling laborers to new lives throughout the Kingdoms. Their stockpiles of Lien went to food and supplies rather than weapons and ammunition. Rather than the determined sounds of Fang Warriors readying themselves for missions, his base was filled with the laughter of children-at-play.

It was unnerving. Give him and his men the haunting wails and cries of the Grimm any day.

"Two hundred and twenty, smuggled into the Mehse Wastes as farmers. We also gave them some extra cash for capital, and –"

"Stop, just… stop," Adam Taurus pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just… are they safe?" At the encouraging nods of his men, Adam continued, "How many more refugees do we need to settle, and what are our total expenditures thus far?"

His Lieutenant looked skyward, doing some impressive mental arithmetics before finally answering, "One thousand, three hundred and six refugees remain to be settled, total expenditures amount to around two hundred thousand lien."

 _Damn it, that was nearly all the income they'd made from robbing the last SDC Freight Train. Speaking of which…_

"How goes the train heists and raids we'd planned, were they successful?" Adam asked.

"Err… we had to cancel those due to fund shortages. We needed to get as many refugees out ASAP because the overhead costs were… _are_ killing us."

 _Damn it, Jaune._

"We will speak more of this matter later," Adam composed himself, "There are more pressing matters at hand."

His Lieutenant, seizing the moment, even as the other officers began hurriedly tucking in their spreadsheets, spoke, "There has been a steady increase in faunus migrating to Vale, and while there are a few genuine migrants, most of them are disguised members of the White Fang from other Kingdoms."

Even though their expressions were hidden under their masks, the assembled officers grew grave. This too, was a recent development.

While the White Fang had leaders, they were by no means centralized or hierarchical. The White Fang had its roots in Menagerie. Faunus were gathered from all four Kingdoms, and corralled into one tiny space. Diverse cultures, dozens of families, and the lack of order and stability eventually split Menagerie's prisoners into several groups, the only thing stopping conflict from breaking out was a shared hatred of humanity.

By the end of the Faunus Rights Revolution, most groups had disbanded, and _tried_ to reintegrate back to the Kingdoms. Other groups, did not, and stayed together for protection. Majority of the faunus that had tried to rejoin the Kingdoms found themselves in massive disadvantages, namely that they had little in the way of possessions, and barely any skills to put food on their tables. The only relevant skill most of these faunus had was murder.

While some of them did resort to banditry, most banded together against a world that despised them.

When the abuses and discrimination of the Kingdoms had once again proven too much, the largest of the faunus groups, the White Fang had taken up protest, then followed by arms, and the rest followed. While they had all borne the banner of the White Fang, they were, in actuality, separate independent groups, all with their own leaders and cultures, operating autonomously from each other.

This leaderless resistance had served them well. Despite the Kingdoms' ability to theoretically bring to bear far more manpower and resources than the White Fang could, they just couldn't afford to do so. The Kingdoms already had their hands full holding back the Grimm tide, and their decentralized command structure meant that the White Fang could not be wiped out decisively. If a White Fang Leader was killed, his group did not shatter, rather, other cells would use the martyr as a rallying call to grow further.

Each group, however, mostly kept to themselves, if they could, given that near everyone had different ideas on how to run the Fang. The Redwings for example, gave more of its attention to treating the hungry and the sick rather than striking back. The faunus of the Steel Legion were hamstrung by old, rigid, outdated codes of honor. The Qinglong Collective were less of a revolutionary force and more of a business, fighting not for the future but for their own lucrative ends. The Blackscales of the North, however, Adam respected. They operated within Atlas' holdings itself, like a turtle, they'd wait for a weakness, a gap in Ironwood's defences, and like a snake, they'd strike. They spoke the softest, yet struck the hardest.

These were four factions among many, but the Fangs entering Vale belonged to one of the four.

Adam knew that like Menagerie, many of these factions held enmity towards each other, yet just now they were apparently able to gather in Vale all at once… _without_ breaking into conflict?

This was the calm before the storm. Something big was happening, and he had no idea what it was.

Well, no idea, but a very sneaking suspicion.

"Cinder Fall," one of the officers snarled, fangs bared.

Adam grunted in response. The Red Woman's plans _had_ been… _relatively_ sound, but the fact still remained that she viewed them as a means to an end. She _needed_ the Fang, the Fang _didn't_ need her. He would calmly order men to their deaths so long as they genuinely believed in the righteousness of their cause, but to die for Cinder's unknown machinations?

Adam grit his teeth, her plans involved sacrificing his men for diversions and smokescreens, of all things.

Cinder was dangerous, anyone with half a brain could tell you that. She was unpredictable, vengeful, and unfortunately, she was good at what she did. She'd been able to somehow find Adam's camp back in Forever Fall, and he wouldn't put it past her to tip Ozpin.

They needed to neutralize her while she was weak.

"We know she still has agents in Vale," another officer spoke, "What's been done about them?"

"She does?! What are they doing?"

"I hear they've entered into a partnership with Roman Torchwick."

"Isn't he loaning muscle from Hei Xiong? He serves the highest bidder, perhaps we should –"

As the table began boiling down into loud conversation, Adam raised a hand and they stopped silent.

Another officer rose from her desk, smirk on her lips, "My men report that the girl she was with was recently brought to a hospital in Western Vale."

"Oh?" Adam grunted.

"The bullhead Glynda Goodwitch brought down? She was in there. She'd been rushed to a hospital under police custody. Last I've checked, they're waiting for her to regain consciousness before beginning their interrogation."

Adam frowned.

On one hand, he supposed he should be glad that one of his enemy's assets would be taken out of the equation. On the other hand, if Cinder had given the girl any information implicating the White Fang or their operations, then they may as well expect a visit from the Huntsmen in a little while. Cinder had already inexplicably dug out the secret forward camp they had made for the recent train heist, what else did she know of them, and did Adam really want to find out?

On the third, metaphorical hand, depending on how much dirt the girl knew, she was potential leverage against Cinder herself.

He was confident he could make Cinder's little thief sing, and he wouldn't break her too bad.

"What do we do, sir?" his Lieutenant queried.

"My men have infiltrated the hospital," the officer blurt in eagerly, "Everything's in place, sir. We're ready!"

"Our enemy is strong," Adam spoke, and those present when Cinder attacked bristled in anger, "The three of them managed to nearly wipe out our entire task force all on their own. We will not underestimate them again."

"Send all the men we can spare," Adam rose from his seat, "Burn down the hospital if you must, but bring her back alive."

"How alive?" The lieutenant chuckled.

"I need her tongue, not her arms and legs."

The officer saluted smartly, but before she could set off to her task, Adam's Lieutenant laid a hand on her shoulder and prompted for her to sit back down.

"Now then," Adam looked left to right, surveying his remaining subordinates, "There is but one more topic we are here to discuss."

All chatter in the room had faded, all of the masks in the room had turned, facing him.

"Jaune Arc," Adam spat out the name as if it were a curse.

The tension in the air grew thick at the mention of _His_ name. Some peered nervously into the now-foreboding shadows of the room, while most clutched their weapons tightly.

The reactions of his men made Adam feel vindicated in his hate of Jaune "Paperwork-Bringer" Arc. Arc had just acted once, and already coffee was going at a premium on-base, all their short-term plans were delayed, and they had to cut off every luxury the base had to save on funds. These luxuries included hot _and_ cold bath water, air-conditioning, TV, blankets, sleep, and days off. Adam was willing to bet good money that all he would see under the Grimm masks his subordinates wore were eyebags.

 _That asshole._

Adam nodded to his Lieutenant, and his Lieutenant fiddled with the controls under the desk. At once, the White Fang banner across Adam's seat began flickering, revealing that it was in fact a smooth, black screen, used by Fang Officers, Tacticians, and Strategists to plan assaults, study tactical maps, and watch movies when they were bored.

"My personal spies," Adam Taurus began, "Have delivered to us a video recording taken from what was allegedly Jaune Arc's personal war machine. Though they say that much of the data was lost due to battle damage, there should be enough to determine what exactly happened in Camp Omega."

As expected, word had spread; all eyes were on him, silent, waiting, hanging on his every word.

Adam nodded once more, and the screen flickered to life.

The splitscreen scenes depicted onscreen was enough to cause the War Room's occupants to gasp.

It was, by its very definition, a nightmare. Hordes of Grimm rampaged through what they recognized as Atlesian Military facilities as the very snows themselves were painted rich hues of crimson. Packs of Beowolves and Ursae marched forth unhindered, climbing on what looked to be a steel giant's thick legs. Nevermore covered the skies; black wings obscuring even the bright, shattered moon itself as the snows swirled. Right in front of the main camera, the colossal, dark form of a Goliath loomed for a brief moment before charging forth; the camera shaking with every step until it had clashed with the war machine.

The White Fang Officers stared into the screen, throats dry. Living outside the protection of the Councils, they feared the Grimm more than they did the Kingdoms, for outside of those walls, it was no question to whom Remnant truly belonged to.

Yet, for all this terror, there was one figure that struck true fear into their hearts.

One feed remained stiff and unchanging, that of a blonde-haired boy draped in a white cloak, two girls lovingly fondling his legs and holding back the Grimm as he lounged on a throne of iron.

As the Goliath charged, and the Nevermore dove, and the Beowolves climbed closer and closer to his form, he did what none of them expected him to do.

Surrounded by certain death and despair, Jaune threw his head back and _laughed_.

The officers stared, enraptured at the screen, their blood turning to ice.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Jaune rose from his throne, blade in hand, and ran, full speed out of the cockpit, right towards the Goliath. " _HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"_

As Jaune Arc leaped off of his cockpit, right into the Goliath's widening scarlet eyes, Adam Taurus realized something.

 _He's not going to make it,_ Adam Taurus knew. Jaune Arc had too little space to build enough speed, he wouldn't make that jump!

However, it appeared Jaune Arc knew this as well, for as soon as he had leaped off his war machine, he had landed right on top of a climbing Ursa, and kicked off of its head, using it as a literal stepping stone to victory.

 _Damn._

Raising his sword over his shoulders in a reverse grip, Jaune Arc soared up and dove down, plunging his shining sword deep in the Goliath's left eye.

Blood and Grimm Ichor gushed, _sprayed_ out of the ruined eye as the Goliath let loose an eerie, pained howl.

Several jaws dropped at the sight.

Even as the Goliath howled hauntingly, and shook its head free of Jaune, all eyes were focused on one detail, on one detail that looked so out of place from the Omega hellscape.

Jaune Arc was falling to the ground, sword in his hand, smile on his face.

It was not a smile that one would use to intimidate, nor a smile one would wear to display false bravado. No, the way his facial muscles relaxed, the ways his eyes closed, the way his lips tightened as he pulled them upwards…

Jaune was happy. Legitimately happy.

 _Holy shit._

Jaune Arc's perfect smile was frozen on their display. The video feed stopped, indicating the end of the recording, yet none tore their eyes away from the screen.

"He's a psychopath," one of the officers finally whispered breaking the nearly oppressive silence.

"Look at that smile," another one muttered, eyes still glued on the screen, "He's… he's genuinely happy."

"He got high after killing that Goliath?"

"No, look at how he laughed even at the start, he was ' _happy'_ before that!"

"Being in mortal danger, surrounded by enemies amuses him?!"

"He was laughing before, but since he stabbed the Goliath through the eye, he became perfectly content!"

A finger pointed shakily at the screen, "You're telling me he gets high from shoving his sword into things?"

Another masked head gave a nervous scoff, "Come on, now, everyone, this video is clearly fake. Planted by the Arc to throw us off."

"No," the Lieutenant whispered, "The spies vouch that this is genuine."

Another man took a steadying breath, "This…this would explain some of the stories going around base."

"There was nothing left of the base after the operation," Adam whispered, and the clamour died down, "There were likely no survivors from Atlas's side, and only the rubble of the walls was left of the Camp."

Faunus ears began perking up as those implications made themselves known. Despite Atlas leaving beside a skeleton crew to man the camp, they had found out that task forces from the Atlesian Army were dispatched to temporarily bolster up defences until their new batch of Atlesian Knights finished production. Even outnumbered and outgunned, the Atlesians were competent enough to repulse Grimm incursions, or at the very least, escape with some of their faunus workers. The fact that there were no Atlesian personnel within the video feed, that the Camp was completely obliterated, as well as the fact that Arc's forces returned with minor casualties _and_ nearly the full number of workers could only mean…

"You mean to say," one of the officers intoned slowly, "That Jaune Arc slew the defenders down to a man?"

"Then casualties among his men would be higher," another spoke up, throat dry, "I believe… he used the Grimm as a distraction for Atlas, allowing him to sneak in and slide the knife in their ribs."

"Use the Grimm?" another spoke incredulously, "You're telling us, that what, a hundred or so green men somehow herded together a horde like that and manipulated them to attack Omega?" he gestured to the screen. "Impossible."

"So, what? Jaune Arc just waves his hands, and a magical Grimm horde arrives, defeats Atlas, and lets him and his men go?"

"Negativity," Adam Taurus realized, and all eyes turned to him, "The Grimm are drawn by negativity."

"S-sir?"

"There are ways," Adam spoke darkly, "Of evoking fear and dread, causing even the most disciplined forces to panic, and to serve as a means to attract the Grimm."

"Terror tactics," the Lieutenant echoed.

"The camp is nestled deep in the Grimmlands," Adam explained, "Think about it, the camp you were guarding was stripped of most of its guards. The Atlesians that arrive are a mean-spirited bunch. It is the dead of night and you are in the middle of a snowstorm, when suddenly, your friends start disappearing one by one."

"He terrorized them."

"Imagine suddenly finding your comrades, their throats slit, their bodies mutilated, their ribs opened and their innards hanging out of them and their faces trapped in expressions of terror," Adam mused, "Kill enough, and even the most disciplined Atlesian would be jittery."

The heads at the table grew contemplative.

"It's a… _was_ a dust mine. There're plenty of ways to get creative with a nigh-unlimited supply of dust."

"His blade is sharp, he must've flayed a few open."

"… there are plenty of things to impale and hang people from there… He could also keep them alive to scream for awhile too…"

"Still, though," one of the younger officers scratched his head, "Does Jaune Arc really seem like the uhh… type to do so?"

Adam merely gave him a blank look, and gestured towards the screen, where Jaune Arc cradled a sword drenched in blood, smiling like a loon.

"Point proven."

"Still, whatever happened," Adam's voice was grim, "This only validates what we already know of Jaune Arc. That he is a powerful, clever, ruthless, unknown, and unstable killer." Adam turned to his men, "Investigate his motives and ascertain his allegiances, we need to know whether or not he's another attack dog of Ozpin's, but do not dare offend him without orders from me. We shall move once we become certain of his capabilities and goals, but until then, we tread carefully."

Masked heads nodded in silent determination.

"Jaune Arc," Adam ground his teeth, "Is a threat, a psychopath hungering for violence for the sake of violence. I want everyone to be on guard around him, and I want the men loyal to him investigated and followed."

Adam Taurus rose from his chair, and personally met the masked eyes of everyone in the room. In a slow, almost solemn voice, he spoke.

"Who knows what he'll do next."

* * *

"Boop, boop, boop," a fair finger repeatedly poked the sleeping girl's dark-skinned cheek.

Nope, still nothing. The thief, what with her mint green hair and lithe frame didn't even stir, no red eyes opened their eyelids.

Jaune Arc, sitting by a chair beside his sleeping charge, was bored. "Boop," he poked her cheek again. Despite his prodding, she'd remained still as a statue.

He had to admit, it felt absolutely surreal to see one of his enemies, so fast and so deadly and so skilled, so helpless like this. Stripped from her clothes and leathers, Jaune'd never have believed that the sleeping girl in the hospital gown was some sort of bandit had he not fought, or more accurately, gotten his ass kicked by her himself.

Jaune Arc leaned back on his chair, Crocea Mors drawn and resting on his lap just in case. Shortly after he'd pulled the girl out of the flaming bullhead, the Vale Police Department along with the Fire Department had arrived, weapons drawn and eyes wary. As they drove the girl to the nearest hospital, Jaune raised his hands in an attempt to placate the assembled officers, but it still might've gotten complicated had not the welcome appearance of a friend defused the situation.

"How is she?" Commissioner Jade Gordon asked, entering the hospital room carrying a paper bag.

"Hasn't stirred," Jaune yawned, poking the unconscious girl's nose.

"That's unfortunate," Gordon remarked, withdrawing a sandwich from the bag and handing one to Jaune. "Apparently the bullhead she was in was Roman Torchwick's escape vehicle, after a run-in with some passing Huntsmen."

Jaune nodded his thanks, free food was free food, "Roman Torchwick?"

"Criminal," Gordon muttered in between chews, "Wanted for seventy-six cases of armed robbery, murder, arson, jaywalking, crimes against fashion, and just being an asshole in general." Gordon swallowed, "He's a prick."

"Ah," Jaune took a bite, mmm, ham and cheese, "So this girl's an accomplice of his?"

Gordon gave him a pointed look, "Actually, we're not too sure of that, the huntsmen that took the bullhead down mention someone with fair skin in a red dress, not someone with dark skin in a white and olive outfit. Weapons don't match either."

"Then there was some sort of fight," Jaune swallowed, choked on the food a little, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, "Can't you check the scene of the crime for… I dunno, bullets or bullet casings or something?"

"We did," Gordon frowned as she brought out two paper cups of coffee, "That's the strange thing. _There was no damage at all."_

"No damage? What do you mean no damage?" Jaune raised an eyebrow as he took a sip. Compared to the coffee Coco served, this may as well have been water.

Gordon downed the cup in a single swig, then pulled another cup of coffee out, "No damage. The huntsmen were going on and on about how a red-dressed woman summoned a flaming dragon down onto the rooftops. There's barely any fire damage on the scene however, and you'd think witnesses would recall seeing a burning dragon crash down on their roofs in the middle of the night."

"Weird," Jaune shrugged.

"I know," Gordon agreed, downing another cup, "We tried to have the huntsmen checked for drug or substance abuse, but Headmaster Ozpin arrived and took charge."

"Ozpin?!" Jaune choked, "Wait, are you really allowed to disclose this much information to me?"

"Eh, why not?" Gordon's voice held an undertone of bitterness, "The huntsmen have taken over these investigations anyway, and if they have, I may as well inform a huntsman I trust."

"Huntsman?" Jaune blinked, "Me? I didn't get into Beacon."

"You'll get there eventually. Just keep trying, kid," Gordon's eyes softened a fraction, and she clapped his shoulder, "Don't worry, kid, you've done lots. I'll update you on any developments, at least, whichever ones I can find."

"Thanks, ma'am," Jaune rose from his chair, and exited the room, stretching as he did so.

Jaune massaged his temples wearily. He was still lugging around the backpack with all his belongings in it, and it was beginning to make his shoulders ache.

It was the dead of night, and save for the hospital's very few night staff, and the patrolling policemen, the hallways were empty. Jaune's footsteps almost echoed in the wide hallways, and looking out the window, there seemed to be nothing but darkness outside. The smell of antiseptics and medicines filled the air, and Jaune found himself thinking back to when he first met the girl he'd internally nicknamed "Revolver".

Jaune bit his lip. There was an important detail he was forgetting, yet so much had happened since then that Jaune found that memory difficult to recall.

He took a deep breath as he descended several flights of stairs in the large hospital complex. Alright, he had to reorganize his thoughts, reread his mental notes, what was he forgetting…

Jaune's eyes shot open, alarmed. Pyrene! Shit, he'd ditched Pyr! He'd gone straight to the hospital with the VPD that he didn't bother going back to the hill they were relaxing on! Jaune brought out his scroll, only for him to realize that he'd actually forgotten to get her number.

 _Dad would be so fucking ashamed._

Jaune covered his face with his hands and sighed. He'd absolutely mucked up his chances with her, didn't he?

 _Still…_

Jaune grunted. As frustrating as it was, there was something else he was missing. He forced his thoughts back to that fateful day he met Adam and LT and Olivine Tiresias.

Heh, Olive, oh yeah, she was pretty cute too. There weren't that many faunus in the villages surrounding the Arc Manor, and while they were travelling together to Vale, Jaune's eyes always found themselves drawn to the delicate, near-white antlers she had on her head. She had that perfect, shy, girl next door look, and the way she took subtle peeks at him when she thought he wasn't looking was pretty adora– _focus Jaune!_

Jaune frowned as he descended several flights of stairs in the large hospital complex.

Well, complex was an understatement. The place could double as a small fort, and now that Jaune thought about it, was probably meant to do so. High walls, well, not as high as the ones Omega had, of course, surrounded the complex. The parking lots were large, easily repurposable into an evacuation site or a makeshift shelter, and there were very few exits going out, and each one had thick, dust-steel gates ready to bar entry.

The Kingdoms were full of buildings like these, made as a contingency for emergencies, particularly of the Grimm variety. In the event that the Grimm somehow force a breach through the walls of Vale, then the Kingdom would easily be able to evacuate their inhabitants to easily defensible pseudo-shelters such as these, as the huntsmen and militaries isolated the Grimm and took them apart piecemeal. It was possible for a Grimm horde to get past Vale's natural barriers, but a logistical nightmare to reinforce it, or so the experts said.

Freaks of nature the Grimm might be, however, any attacking Grimm force still had to cross whole mountain ranges to get to Vale on foot.

Jaune descended to the ground floor, and as expected, the main lobby itself was totally empty, except for the sleepy receptionist yawning behind the counter. Jaune clicked his tongue in exasperation, it'd be difficult to find a ride back to The Club at this rate, well, that, and the fact that he still had no cash since throwing his wallet at Albus' crazy old owner.

He really wished the smug horse was here right about now. His feet and his shoulders were beginning to ache from having to lug around his backpack all around town.

Jaune's eyes shot wide open.

Right, the horse!

He'd first met 'Revolver' on what he believed was the road to Vale, after managing to borrow Albus from that old lady.

Jaune's eyes widened. Now he remembered what was up.

He'd gotten off Albus and tried to help up a small girl, only for her to disappear, and him to find out that he'd been suckered into an ambush.

 _Illusions!_ Jaune turned back, _Of course!_

 _"No damage. The huntsmen were going on and on about how a red-dressed woman summoned a flaming dragon down onto the rooftops,"_ Gordon's voice echoed in his head, _"There's barely any fire damage on the scene however, and you'd think witnesses would recall seeing a burning dragon crash down on their roofs in the middle of the night."_

The pursuing huntsmen were drawn away by illusions!

 _"…The huntsmen that took the bullhead down mention someone with fair skin in a red dress…"_

Jaune's features tightened into a scowl. One of his attackers that day had been a beautiful archer in red with what had to be the best legs Jaune had ever seen.

 _"Roman Torchwick?"_

 _"Criminal, wanted for seventy-six cases of armed robbery, murder, arson, jaywalking, crimes against fashion, and just being an asshole in general. He's a prick."_

Jaune's brows furrowed further. This last one _had_ to be the smelly, gray-haired fighter in gray. He definitely had 'smug asshole' written all over him, as well as the fashion sense of a retarded slug. I mean, tattered khakis in the middle of the goddamn forest? This guy was on par with all of those maniacs who liked to wear heels and stilettos and skirts and capes to mortal combat.

Jaune pulled his cape closer to his body. It was rather cold that night.

He looked up at the foreboding silhouette of the hospital, a menacing shadow against the starless night sky.

It was amazing how different things looked like at night.

His eyes went from right to left, now bereft of sunlight and people, the hospital complex looked less of a place of healing, and more of the sprawling fortress it was.

His eyes narrowed into slits, the events of Omega coming to mind, where each corner and blind spot could easily conceal a group of guards, Atlesians or Grimm. Where every shadow seemed to move and flicker like it was alive and plotting his death.

His hand went to the hilt of his sword before he could stop himself.

Jaune shook his head. Maybe he really was getting paranoid. This was a fortified hospital in the middle of Vale that had a police force within its walls. There was absolutely no way anything could go wrong here, right?

 _Right?_

* * *

"Did you hear something?" a cop by the unfortunate name of Redshirt Murphy called out to his buddy.

"Probably just the wind," came the reply from his partner, Leroy Jerkins.

"Goddammit, man, never say that," Murphy muttered, hand fingering his gunblade, "It's never just the fucking wind. Anyone who ever says that always ends up being the first guy who dies when the bullshit starts."

"Relax, man," Leroy leaned back in his seat, yawning, "What's the worst that could happen?"

Murphy bolted from his seat, finger pointed at his partner's face, weapon drawn, "Shit, man, do you _want_ to die?! The only thing we're missing right now is a couple having sex."

"I dunno," the cop raises his eyebrows suggestively, "Wanna start something?"

"You're straight," Murphy deadpanned, "I'm straight. We made sure. Commissioner Gordon's right behind this door."

"What could possibly go wrong?" Leroy shrugs, "'S a quiet night, and we got an easy job. As far as I'm concerned, we good."

As soon as the words left his lips, Gordon burst through the door, looking the very epitome of ripshit-pissed.

Where other cops might shrink back, Leroy waved, "Huntsmen again?"

"Ozpin," Gordon grumbled through gritted teeth, "Is sending someone to collect our suspect tonight. No instructions, no thank you's, no requests, and no explanations. They're aware something's up, what with how Atlas and the SDC are moving, and with all the dust shops being hit, but they're leaving us out of the loop."

"Again?"

"Again," Gordon straightened out her coat, "And they've 'asked' me to pick him up because apparently he doesn't have a ride."

At this, Murphy's eyebrow rose, "Can't someone else do it for you?"

Gordon barked out a harsh laugh, "No, I know this one. No one in the force would survive _him_ , and I might actually be able to squeeze some answers out of this guy, at least."

Leroy shrugged, Murphy sat back down.

"Remain vigilant," Gordon urged, turning on her heel and stepping out of sight, "I'm pretty sure this is gonna get worse before it gets better."

* * *

The hospital janitor continued mopping the pristine floors, taking extra care to keep his face pointed down and obscured by the collar of his uniform.

Faunus ears, concealed by the uniform cap, perked when they heard strong, purposeful footsteps, very much akin to an impatient gait, cross the hallway and into the exits.

The janitor waited, and soon, he heard the unmistakable sounds of a car driving off into the distance. If he could hear it from where he was, surely his comrades, hidden as they were, could hear it too.

"The Police Commissioner has left the building," he whispered into the receiver concealed in his collar.

"Unexpected, but welcome," came the harsh voice of Adam's Lieutenant, "All is going as planned, our forces have surrounded the complex incognito, and your reinforcements are estimated to arrive in seven minutes."

The janitor continued mopping, unwilling to let up his act even when he believed he was alone.

"At best, we will be able to accomplish this completely undetected," continued the Lieutenant, "But there are recent developments…"

The janitor continued dipping his mop in the water, cleansing it.

"… The eyes of Adam Taurus are on this mission. He gives permission to employ any amount of force and violence as you see fit, only that you capture the girl."

The janitor had to restrain his face from breaking out into a wide smirk. From the edge of his hearing, far more powerful than what the humans could even dream of, he could hear a soft familiar tune being tapped out in one of the restrooms above.

 _We're here,_ the code had meant.

"Your reinforcements have arrived," rumbled the Lieutenant, "Commence operation."

* * *

Jaune Arc slammed the doors wide open.

Pace quickening, he re-entered the lobby, intent on delivering his newly-remembered knowledge to the Commissioner until something froze him in his place.

His palms had begun tingling.

He'd long learned to trust in his instincts before. Consequences be damned, with the sound of steel gnashing against steel, he drew his sword and unfurled his shield. Body seeming to move with a life of its own, Jaune raised his shield forward, keeping his sword at his side, waist-level, pointed skywards in the Arc Middle Guard, a primarily defensive stance geared towards countering after a successful defense, and one of the few lessons his family had actually managed to teach him.

It was his bread and butter, and saved his life more than once.

Reflexively, he took a quick breath and braced for the incoming attack only… no attack came.

Jaune blinked, behind his shield, then relaxed his stance a little. His palms still itched, yet, nothing seemed different in the hospital lobby then from when he had left it. The floors were still immaculately clean, the receptionist was still dozing over the counter, and all of the comfy-looking, teal-upholstered seats were still empty.

Jaune raised an eyebrow. He wasn't exactly quiet when he stomped in the room and readied his weapons, the receptionist must be pretty tired to sleep through that. Still, maybe she had seen something? He should ask.

Jaune stepped forward, and reached out a hand to shake her, only she didn't react.

The tingling in his palms intensified.

Jaune shook her harder, and she slumped backwards in her chair, eyes closed, face peaceful, and throat slit wide open.

Whatever weariness Jaune felt vanished, and his blood ran cold. Forcing himself to breathe steadily, his eyes darted wildly across the room for threats. Blood still flowed from the wound, and it had been less than an hour since he exited the building and the receptionist was still alive then.

Again, the reception area seemed as empty as when he left it, except for the added detail of slowly-pooling blood staining the white tiles crimson.

Forcing down the bile bubbling down his throat, he steeled himself and studied the still-warm body. The receptionist's uniform, save for the bloodstains from her throat, was still neat like it had been freshly-ironed. Her hair was still tied into a clean bun, her face was still hauntingly serene, and her arms and legs held no bruises or discolorations.

There was no struggle here, she was murdered in her sleep.

The ice in his blood slowly gave way to fire. The wound was clean, precise, _professional_ , the kind of wound his family had once taught him to inflict. Whoever did this was trained, this wasn't the handiwork of some amateur with a blade, and believe him, he knew the handiwork of an amateur with a blade, he was one after all, no, this was the work of a professional.

His grip on Crocea Mors tightened. This was either the work of a rogue huntsman or an assassin, but whoever it was, the people in this building were in danger.

Sure there were policemen stationed here in addition to the hospital's security, but if the enemy were a huntsman, or even a huntsman-in-training, then they were as good as dead.

The Commissioner, Jaune's eyes lit up, he had to get to the Commissioner.

The Commissioner was in danger, and in extension, so too was their unconscious little bullhead thief. In addition to that, Ozpin had taken over the investigation, so if the Commissioner was able to bring it up to their attention, then they might be able to get huntsmen to reinforce them.

Jaune cast one last glance at the receptionist's corpse. The blood had yet to congeal, she was still a fresh kill, and that meant the murderer, or _murderers_ , were still nearby. At this timing, she'd have been killed a little after Jaune had left the hospital, had he stayed just a little while longer…

Jaune shook his head out of his reverie. Whatever the case, the enemy was still stalking around the halls of this building, and until they got hunter reinforcements, the Commissioner would need all the help she could get.

His blue eyes shone with grim determination, if there was one thing he was capable of, it was attrition.

With sword in hand and one final breath, Jaune broke into a run, charging headlong into the silent halls.

* * *

 **Chapter 12 End…?**

* * *

"Excuse me, ma'am?" Pyrene asked, waking the hospital receptionist up. "I'm sorry, but I really do need your help."

"Huh, whuzzat?" the receptionist mumbled, before gasping and straightening up, "Oh! I'm sorry, I dozed off, how may I help you?"

Pyr gave her a smile, "I'm looking for a friend of mine, blonde hair, blue eyes, and a white cape?"

The receptionist brought her hand to her chin, "Does he have a white sword strapped to his hip?"

Pyr's eyes lit up, and she nodded. Thankfully, from their weapons to the way they dressed, huntsmen truly did stand out, and were thus, easier to remember.

Of course this also meant she couldn't go out without being mobbed, but still…

"Room number five two six," the receptionist stifled a yawn, "Annex building. Use the elevator and take the first right."

"Thank you," Pyr gave her a respectful nod and went on her way, yet, as she continued on, she felt the unsettling sensation of being watched. Turning back, she saw a small girl, dressed in a most intriguing outfit of white, pink, and brown.

Most notably however, were the dual colorations of the girl's hair, with one side dyed bright pink, and the other a dark brown. She looked perfectly content lounging on the comfortable looking hospital chairs, taking dainty licks of her ice cream cone, yet there was something off about her that unnerved Pyr.

Pyr's green eyes met the girl's, and for a moment, Pyr thought that her eyes seemed to shift color.

The girl gave Pyr a jaunty wave.

"Must've been a trick of the light," Pyr mumbled, turning back around and on her way.

Neopolitan's lips stretched into an amused smile, and she took another lick of her sweet, icy treat. Idly, she noticed the receptionist trying to catch her attention.

"Excuse me, ma'am, is there anyone you're waiting for?"

Neo made a show of checking the time on her scroll before smiling sheepishly and nodding her head. The receptionist nodded an acknowledgment and settled down, typing something by the computers.

Right on cue, the doors to the hospital burst open, and a young man strode forward, his white cloak billowing, his white sword strapped to his hip.

Neo licked the scoop of strawberry, then vanilla, mixing the flavors in her mouth.

The Arc.

So he came back.

Neo's smirk became sharper.

Giving a sidewards glance at the surprised and speechless receptionist, Neo's mouth twisted upwards as she weaved her Semblance around them. It would take some effort to maintain the charade, but she could manage, so long as say… he didn't lick the illusionary blood or something.

Jaune Arc took several steps forward, all according to plan until his whole body seemed to flinch, and in the blink of an eye, he had drawn his weapons, his piercing, ghostly blue gaze pinning her down where she sat.

For a brief moment, Neo's eyes went white. _He could see her?! HOW?!_

Neo's eyes instantly darted at her parasol, leaning uselessly by the side of the chair, a few inches away from reach. She'd been careless, relying too much on the safety afforded to her by her illusions.

Cold sweat dribbled down Neo's temple. If the Arc was half as good as the rumors said he was, then he could slice her in twain before she could blink. Her only chance was to anticipate the next move, dodge it cleanly, and get to her weapon.

Her shocked white eyes gazed into the Arc's blue. She could not discern his motives, nor could she tell what attack he'd make.

This battle would be over in a heartbeat.

Neo swore mentally. She didn't even know what his Semblance was!

And yet… after several intense seconds of Jaune Arc staring right at her, he relaxed his stance.

Neo released a breath she hadn't known she was holding. Was he sparing her, or... could it be? Was he still under her influence?

Jaune Arc strode over to the terrified receptionist. Poor girl, her mouth was trembling, and she looked like she was desperately trying to scream.

Jaune grabbed her by the shoulder and shook her like a… like a… she got nothing. Anyway, he shook her hard, her head whipping back and forth so hard that Neo almost feared her neck would break.

After a few minutes he stopped, the poor receptionist had gone pale and looked like she was about to faint after being manhandled by the scary huntsman.

Jaune's expression had slowly morphed into an increasingly concerned one, and for a brief moment, the receptionist's heart was filled with hope, this might just be some misunderstanding going on, right?

And then Jaune Arc grabbed both her shoulders, and shook her harder.

Right after he had done so, he froze in place, staring at her right in the eye as he gaped like a dead fish.

The receptionist's finger had pressed the "security" button hidden under the counter.

After an indeterminate amount of time staring at her eyes, the Arc then decided to look straight at the receptionist's chest, cringing after doing so. He then brought his face uncomfortably close to her hair, and totally checked out her arms and legs.

Illusion or no illusion, this guy had balls, man.

The receptionist's finger was mashing the "security" button by now.

Apparently satisfied, Jaune took several steps back. His grip on his naked blade tightened, his eyes narrowed, and his face became grim. The receptionist's jaw dropped, tears began pooling in her eyes, and her vision had become blurry as she saw her life flash before her.

Then, without warning, he took off running deeper into the hospital.

Neo blinked.

The receptionist blinked the tears away from her eyes, then began laughing in mad relief, before falling off of her chair and curling into a fetal position, unconscious.

Neo blinked again. So, that happened. Huh.

A wet sensation shook her from reverie. She looked to the hand holding her ice cream cone to find that each scoop of vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry ice creams had melted away.

Neo let off a small sigh, as she finished the cone and picked up her parasol.

Still, this was… promising… right? The Arc was vulnerable to her illusions. Of course, she hadn't met anyone that could see through her illusions. Of course he'd be affected by them.

Right?

Or was he?

Neo shivered and held her parasol tighter. Pink and brown irises dancing from left to right and right to left. Neo released a quavering breath.

Very slowly, her mouth began twitching upwards into a very wide smile.

She could feel it. Her heart began racing. How long had it been exactly since she had felt a thrill like this?

 _He looked at her like a lion would a piece of meat. His eyes burning a pale, sky-blue as his teeth were ground in utter disgust and righteous malice..._

…Her stomach began doing flips…

 _…The glass of her Semblance did nothing to obscure her form. His sharp blade glinted menacingly in the low light, he licked his lips in anticipation of her sweet blood…_

 _…_ Her head began to feel light.

 _…He would tear her apart. She would try to resist, to stab her hidden blade into him only for her warm blood to mix with his as he repaid the thrust with his own…_

Neo ran her tongue on her soft lips, savouring the lingering sweet of vanilla and chocolate and strawberry.

So this was the merciless warrior that beheld the defences of Camp Omega and left it behind an empty desolate snowmound with only rubble to mark its passing. This was the mysterious Arc who had struck terror into Cinder Fall herself. This was the man whom General Ironwood was tearing apart heaven and earth to find.

Neo smirked. He wasn't bad.

She picked up her parasol, twirling it for a few seconds before leaning it on her shoulder.

This time, she wouldn't be caught off-guard, oh no.

Hopping off the chair, with slow, deliberate, echoing steps, Neopolitan sauntered into the darkness.

* * *

The man raised his flask to his lips, his tongue savouring the bittersweet, rich taste, and his throat relishing in the furious burn.

'Refueled', he set his crimson eyes to the task at hand.

"So baby," spoke the _male_ stripper, buck naked save for the oil on his pecs and what was more or less a leather speedo on his crotch, "I heard you were looking for a _horse_."

"I said I was looking for _someone_ who was looking for a horse," the man slurred, crossing his legs and relaxing on the leather seats, "I have no idea why everyone giggled and pointed me at a strip club though, _hic._ "

The stripper laughed, "That's me, darling. People like to call me Horse."

The man's crimson eyes narrowed, "Why do people call you Horse?"

The stripper merely shone him a saucy smile, and began thrusting his pelvis into the air.

"Ohhh," the man nodded, until his scroll began to ring, "'Scuse me, Horse, I need to take this."

The man raised the scroll to his ear, "Y'ello?" he drawled.

"What are you doing!?", rang the shrieking tones of an enraged Glynda Goodwitch through the speaker.

"Searching for the Fall Maiden," the man replied, winking at Horse, "Y'know, I really think I'm making progress here."

He could hear Glynda take several deep breaths over the scroll. The man smirked, taking another swig of his flask.

"The situation has changed," Glynda's voice was dire.

"How so?" the man drawled.

"Because we'd just encountered a red figure wielding what we believe to be the Fall Maiden's powers defending Roman Torchwick just several hours ago."

The man shot up from his chair, _but then, this would mean that Amber's…_

"I see," came the man's response, "What do we do now?"

"I was able to bring down the bullhead the woman in red was escaping on, however, she was quickly put into police custody," Glynda's voice was laced with urgency, "We need you to transfer her to our safekeeping immediately…"

"…Because she's an _actual_ lead to the Fall Maiden, the Dust Store hits, the White Cloak, and the Queen," the man finished, "Say no more, where is it?"

"We'd already called for someone to fetch and escort you to the Alchemilla Hospital. They should be there any minute."

"Got it," the man took another swig.

"Oh, and one more thing…"

 _There's more?_

He could hear Glynda take a long breath, before speaking.

"You know what's at stake here, and we're counting on you, _Qrow._ "

Qrow Branwen, The Scarecrow, Ozpin's Left Hand, Q of STRQ, Ozpin's Executioner, and the Scythe of Vale, merely grinned, before replying.

" _Who the hell do you think I am, Glynda?"_

* * *

 **Chapter 12: End.**

* * *

 **AN: /opens mouth before thinking twice and closing it. Yeah, I'm gonna stop promising** ** _when_** **I'll be done with the updates. Merely that there will be. Damn it, sorry, yeah. Next chapter in the works.**


	14. Chapter 13: Deceiver

**AN: I have no idea how to pace.**

* * *

Jaune Arc strode frantically past the hospital corridors, trying desperately to control his breathing, eyes darting around wildly as cold sweat slid down his temples.

He had become so cold he looped all the way round and almost felt warm.

An unearthly fog had begun rising up from the floors, tinted an unnatural pale blue by the shattered, flickering moon outside.

Jaune took a deep breath, then immediately regretted it.

The air smelled of a sick, saccharinely-sweet fragrance that seemed to teeter between overripe fruit and honey that made Jaune's head spin and his vision blur.

Yet, for some reason, breathing it in calmed him down, and so breathe in he did.

Senses working on overtime, Jaune's ears strained as they heard that one tell-tale sound he had begun to dread upon entering this accursed place.

The echoing sound of approaching footsteps, the sound of an encroaching nightmare.

Weariness dissipating like a blast, Jaune felt icewater replace the blood in his veins as he pressed forward,through the narrowing corridors and cold tile.

Sure enough, the footsteps followed, the erratic and inhuman and _extremely quiet_ pursuing him through the shadowy halls and the perpetually-sleeping bodies of the hospital's denizens.

Behind him, he could hear unoccupied wheelchairs being thrown around, hospital beds and gurneys turned aside as if some invisible figure was chasing him. The footsteps quickened as glass shattered and echoing screams and moans pierced the silence of night.

Jaune turned around, and nothing was out of the ordinary. Was it just his imagination?

A powerful, piercing smell overpowered the previous stench of the halls, making its way to Jaune's nose as he tried not to gag; smelling of a vile, dizzying bouquet of life and death, of rot and decay and birth and bile and acid and of alcohol.

Jaune dared to look back over his shoulder, and he imagined he could almost make out the flickering, ghostly, pale form of a little girl, eyes a pale, milky white, too wide to be any sort of human, stalk him through the shadows, her mouth opened wide in an aborted scream.

He blinked, and the figure was gone, just as easily as it had come.

Was it the fouled air? Was he having hallucinations?! _Was he still tripping from the coffee from a while ago?!_

Outside, swarms of scarlet-eyed crows began clamouring, cawing into a crescendo in rhythm with the quickening drumbeats of his heart.

 _Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nopity-nope, nope._

Really, how the hell was he supposed to know that this goddamn hospital was fucking haunted?!

* * *

 **Arc of the Revolution**

 **Chapter 13: Deceiver**

 **~In which a hundred walk into a hospital and only one walks out~**

 **Alternative Title: HOOKAH PARTY!1!ONE!**

* * *

Among all of the senses man has, he is most reliant on his sight.

Visual perception, the ability to interpret one's surroundings by processing information contained in visible light, thus it could be said to be the main means on how man perceives the world, _on how man perceives existence itself._

We perceive phenomena occurring in our surroundings, acquiring sensory data through our senses, and processing this data to information and eventually knowledge and wisdom, such that our senses bridge the gap between human perception and the world, _between idea and reality._

Such is man's reliance on his eyes that we equate knowledge with eyesight and light. We use the word "enlightenment", root word "light" for the acquisition of knowledge, wisdom and understanding, also implying that the concepts of "darkness", "blindness" could equate to the opposite, ignorance. We use the words, "I see" interchangeably for the words, "I understand" and in contrast, we use the words "blurry", "hazy", "murky", "unclear" to speak of vague ideas.

Even comically, we present eureka moments with the image of light bulbs turning on.

Compared to other senses, sight is used the most to speak of understanding, such that we say "I see", and not the words "I smell", or "I touch", or "I taste".

To summarize, man uses his senses to experience and learn of the world around him, in such a way that we can make sense of reality.

Yet now, we are led into a conundrum.

Say we have two men, both of them reliable, upstanding, trustworthy individuals.

Say these two men observe an object, yet one of these men shall call the object in question an apple, while the other would call said object a ballistic-sniper-scythe.

Both observers are men of integrity, and believe themselves to be telling the truth.

Assume you are able to look at the object, and rather than an apple or a horrible, impractical weapon, you see a faunus porno mag, the extremely rare 'bunny cunny' edition, instead.

If our senses themselves lie to us, what can we trust? What if but all we see are daydreams or hallucinations or some trick of the mind, or worse, some superficial reality enforced by some evil demon?

If our senses themselves were fallible, then it follows that information derived from these senses are also fallible. If such information could be possibly false, it is not an impossibility that everything we know are but lies.

In the end, is there anything outside of ourselves that we can truly comprehend, without a doubt? Is there any such thing as pure, objective truth?

 **Philosophy for Dolts: Pyrene D. Cartes,** _ **Chapter 1, by Theophilus Caeruleus**_

* * *

"Uhh, don't do drugs, kids."

 **-Public Service Advisory by the Vale Police Department**

* * *

Pyrrha Niko – Pyrene, _Pyrene_ , wasn't quite lying when she told the stylish barista, (Coco, was it?) that she wore such thick clothes because Vale was colder than Mistral.

As she walked through the empty hospital halls, she shivered a little, crossing her arms and thanking her manager for urging her to wear such a heavy coat.

Despite the cold atmosphere and dark, almost oppressive silence, she smiled to herself. Today felt like a rebirth, like the start of a new day, and indeed, today was a day of many firsts.

She truly couldn't remember the last time she'd talked, _truly talked_ , to a boy in her age group like she'd just did with Jaune Arc just a little while ago. She'd long subscribed to the belief that the eyes were the windows to the soul, and looking into his?

She closed her eyes, recalling the first time she saw him, hours ago.

She was bumped lightly from behind, and as she turned, her eyes were drawn to three distinctive features he possessed.

His weathered white cloak, beginning to fray at the edges and bearing the telltale signs of battle-damage, his blonde hair which shone gold in the sun, and most of all, his bright blue eyes which reminded her of either the tranquil seas or the calm skies depending on which angle she looked.

However, there was truly indeed more to Jaune Arc than met the eye. He felt like a… _how would her manager call it,_ a paradox, some sort of mishmash of contradicting details somehow managing to present some unified message.

A lesson that Pyr had long internalized was that to win, one needed to know her enemy. Regardless of how her family and … peers in Mistral would belittle her tournament opponents, she always made a point to research about them beforehand. What weapons they used, what mecha-shift forms their weapons were capable of, maximum effective range, reach, what sort of blade they used, what kind of dust they favoured, what kinds of Semblances they evoked, how they would react to close, mid, or long-ranged battle, all such details were filed in little compartments in Pyrrha's… _Pyrene's_ mind.

Even if other huntsmen-in-training had concealed their Semblances like she did, she'd long learned to profile people based on their postures, means of walking, musculature, and style of dress, and she'd learned to do it well.

All huntsmen, warriors, rogues, and soldiers worth their salt were similar.

However, where Pyr could read and profile others with but a glance from her alert green eyes, Jaune Arc was nothing less than an enigma.

When he had bumped into her by accident, Pyr spun around, eyes instinctively taking in important details on what she thought was an immediate threat, _cloak, hair, eyes._

Pyr was at first, alarmed. She could not see where his hands were underneath the white cloak, nor could she see any bandoliers of dust ammunition, nor holsters for firearms, nor drawn blade; and she'd had to call upon her Semblance to detect the sword still sheathed on his hip. She scanned his eyes for malicious intent, and all she read was "Oh, shit, I'm falling."

As for his hair? His hair was surprisingly pretty, like he'd been using feminine shampoo that made his hair fragrant and silky-smooth.

Despite the rather shaky first impression, Pyr joined him not only because he actually spoke to _her_ and not the _Champion,_ but also because she had grown curious, _very curious._

The white cloak seemed to make him look bigger than he actually was, and she was very nearly unable to hide her shock when she saw how scrawny… no, _less buff_ he actually was underneath. He moved clumsily, and seemed to be completely bereft of balance and grace, but judging from the recent damage on the cloak, the cuts on his armor, and through the eyes of her Semblance, the nicks on his sword and sheath; he seemed to have seen his fair share of combat himself.

She ran her Semblance on his sword, essentially stroking his blade with her mind. The weapons were old, without mecha-shifts save for an expanding mechanism on the shield-sheathe, and most of all, seemed very, _very used._

She'd only been able to glean the barest of information on his sword using her Semblance, and what she found startled her.

The sword was _old_. It was made of a very powerful metal Pyr herself couldn't identify, and while it seemed like it had been reinforced and maintained with other dust-infused metals, the original sword itself had never been broken.

In fact, with how dense the metal was and how free it was of impurities, if Jaune told her the sword was unbreakable, she'd believe him.

… And for such a weapon to be covered in nicks and battle damage…

She had only seen such on the weapons of Veteran Huntsmen, and then Jaune had told her to her face that he didn't get into Beacon.

 _Was that supposed to be some sort of joke?_

Either this Jaune Arc was a very powerful warrior and a very effective, near sociopathic liar, or he was some sort of fake carrying around a sword that had seen nearly a century's worth of constant battle.

But who would use such an antique weapon that they didn't customize and make themselves, right?

But the eyes were the windows to the soul, Pyr believed, and in his eyes, whether false or not, all she saw was an almost earnest honesty.

It was almost like staring into the eyes of a puppy.

He was honestly glad to spend time with her, and after a mere couple of minutes, so was she.

Pyr felt her cheeks heat up, and an uncontrollable smile graced her lips.

She'd had a friend, an honest-to-goodness friend that actually saw _her_ and not the title and persona of Mistral's four-time Champion.

A friend _… whom she'd promptly lied to and used a fake name with._

Pyr stopped in her tracks.

Huh, damn. She'd forgotten about that.

Pyr yawned, stretching her arms. How long had she been walking?

She raised an eyebrow. This… this airheadedness wasn't like her. Usually she'd be able to estimate just how much she'd walked without needing to think about it.

She looked back and forth. She hadn't seen anyone walking around either, yet she felt she had gone some distance that had to warrant seeing a janitor or some member of the hospital staff by now.

She stepped to the side and took a sideward glance at one of the hospital rooms. On the bed, a patient was fast asleep, and by the chairs slept someone who looked like the patient's spouse.

Pyr took a look at the next couple of rooms, all its occupants fast asleep, but something caught her eye.

All of them seemed to have fallen asleep in the very acts of doing something. A middle-aged woman was asleep, knife in hand, slicing open an apple. A teenaged man was slumped over a sink, the faucet still running. A patient, propped up by his hospital bed was fast asleep, food tray on lap, his meal still hot and steaming.

Pyr frowned. The deeper she went, the more and more it looked as if everyone simply fell asleep right when they were working on something. Her head began to ache, and her fingers started to become numb and shaky, and –

Eyes widening, Pyr slashed at the air with her arm, forcing the windows open with the touch of her Semblance.

As soon as she had done so, something seemed to stir in the very air, and what looked to be a very fine smog began seeping out into the clear night. Pyr took a careful breath, and immediately, she felt her vision clear, strength return to her arms, and clarity return to her mind.

Most importantly, she noticed the scent of a certain sweet fragrance in the air slowly dissipate.

Senses slowly recovering, Pyr reached out a hand, feeling for the airways of the hospital's ventilation systems, and, just as she'd suspected, the blades and fans meant to keep the air flowing had stopped. Exerting her influence on the vents, she could actually feel some sort of blockage.

In the corner of her eye, she could spot someone in the navy blue uniform of the VPD, unconscious, and snoring in his chair.

 _Sleeping gas?_

Whatever happened here wasn't an accident.

Pyr slowly stripped off her bag, reaching for two, very special tools of hers.

Holding her arms out akimbo, a scarlet blade and a bronze shield burst out from the inside of her belongings and into her hands.

Milo and Akouo, _to speak and to listen_.

She flicked her wrist, giving the scarlet-gleaming blade several experimental twirls. The balance was as perfect as she'd designed it to be. All of its components, gears, rifle barrel, _everything_ , was clean, lubricated, and smooth.

"Milo," Pyr whispered in almost reverent tones. This sword was her voice, with which she would carve her words and her very being unto the world.

She looked to her other hand, testing the familiar weight of her shield. The familiar bronze shone strong and sturdy, capable of turning lethal blows aside even without her Semblance. Its edges were sharpened and honed, capable of tearing apart even Grimm hides at sufficient velocities.

"Akouo," Pyr closed her eyes as if in prayer. This shield was her ear, upon which she would receive the voice of the world and stand strong.

They said that the weapons Huntsmen forged were extensions of their very souls. She couldn't have said it better herself, even if she had a thousand years to try.

She hoped she was wrong, that this was all some sort of freak accident caused by foolish negligence, and that everyone would laugh it off later on in the morning.

If not, well…

Staccato bursts of gunfire roared in the distance, breaking the nearly solemn quiet.

She wanted, no, it was her _destiny_ to become a Huntress, a guardian and defender of mankind. An aura the color of alternating black and red, _the color of flame,_ began covering her weapons like a veil, flowing through its dustmetal pathways she had painstakingly carved with her own two hands.

The ringing clashes of steel rang from afar, sounding like the opening stanzas of a siren's song.

Pyrrha Nikos opened her eyes, and they shone with green fire.

She was a Huntress, a heroine, a saviour of mankind, and this was her destiny, _hers, and hers alone to seize._

And she would sooner turn into dust and cinder before she'd let anyone take that away from her.

* * *

"Sleeping gas deployed," came a hushed voice in the Lieutenant's ear. "Nearly the entire hospital's been put to sleep, except for small pockets of resistance from the VPD."

"And the target?" the Lieutenant rumbled. He was in a simple, nondescript truck with heavily tinted windows, along with several other faunus of the White Fang, en route to the Alchemilla Hospital Complex. Unlike the disguised task force, he and his men were armored in the garbs of the Fang, and armed to the teeth.

They were the contingency.

"We've located her," whispered the response, and in the background, the Lieutenant could hear small bursts of gunfire, "Her guard remained alert though, but we'll have her shortly."

"Good," the Lieutenant muttered. This situation irked him. He understood Adam Taurus's judgment; Cinder Fall and her faction were far too powerful to be left alone, and she seemed vindictive enough to sabotage and blow the whistle on White Fang operations out of spite.

Still, with Jaune Arc's interference causing increased action from Atlas, as well as tying down their funds to settle refugees, to deploy so many men on a mission to secure an unconscious girl seemed like too much of a waste.

Their target, while an easy to fortify hospital complex, had no notable patients worth kidnapping and ransoming or assassinating. There was nothing of much worth to steal or loot, and the hospital itself was impartial with its treatment of faunus.

Had he been in charge, they'd simply have just killed her in her sleep. They didn't even really have a pressing need to make it look like an accident.

Was this one girl, a petty thief by Adam's accounts, worth this much effort?

Still, the Lieutenant deferred to Adam's judgment. If Cinder was as dangerous as Adam believed, then they could afford no loose ends.

"Sir," the clipped voice of the truck driver aroused him from his contemplation, "We're near the complex."

"Good," he sat up straight, "Remain near the complex, park nearby or circle around, and prepare for trouble."

"Sir?" a young female voice blurted out even as the Lieutenant turned to look. He knew her, this was the new recruit, "Do you really think something'd go wrong with the mission tonight? I mean, there shouldn't even be any enemies, and we have like, fifty people, trying to get one sleeping girl –"

Immediately, at her words, everyone in the truck began to stir. Eyes widened behind their masks, and the Fangs beside her made attempts to cover her mouth with their hands before she could utter the dreaded words.

The Lieutenant merely closed his eyes in defeat.

"-I mean what could possibly go wrong?" she chirped, blissfully unaware of her comrades' reactions.

The Lieutenant gave the truck driver a look, and in a resigned tone, spoke, "Change of plans, we're getting off and moving out." As the truck's occupants groaned as one, readying their weapons and loading their ammunition, the Lieutenant turned to the new girl, "You were asking what could go wrong?"

The girl nodded cheerfully.

The Lieutenant looked at her with dead eyes, bereft of hope.

"Everything."

* * *

"…And then," Qrow Branwen slurred, hiccupping and sobbing, tears in his eyes, cheeks scarlet, "She disappears! Just like that! She- shee was s'possed to perrrtect us from the Gramm!"

"This Fall Maiden, yeah," Commissioner Jade Gordon forced out the words through gritted teeth. She turned the steering wheel sharply to the right, relishing the sound Qrow's head made when it hit the window of her car.

Qrow simply sobbed again and took another swig out of his seemingly inexhaustible flask.

Gordon wrinkled her nose in disgust. It would take weeks to get the smell of filthy brewery out of her car, and that was assuming he didn't throw up in it.

Damn it, and to think she thought Qrow could divulge some useful information on what Ozpin and Atlas had been up to recently. Such hopes were promptly dashed to the ground as soon as she'd heard Qrow gush on drunkenly about a Fall Maiden this and Fall Maiden that.

"All the women in my life leave me," Qrow sobbed, leaning on her shoulder, "Raven just flew away, and then the Fall Maiden, and then Summer!" Qrow took another gulp, "Did I ever tell you about Summer? 'Cause when I met you in the summeeeer, Summer Rose? She was one of them silver-ass warriors, and she had them fine legs that…"

Gordon stomped on the brakes, and Qrow's face whipped forward, slamming into the car dashboard.

"We're here," Gordon hastily disembarked, breathing deeply of the sweet fresh air, as Qrow's stinky carcass slumped out of the vehicle.

Strange, the supposedly fresh night air didn't soothe her as much as she thought it would. Preferable as it was to Qrow's unique bouquet, the very smell of it made the hairs on her neck rise.

Gordon's eyebrows furrowed, and she sniffed the air again. There was some sort of smell emanating from the hospital before them.

Her eyes narrowed, she knew that smell.

Qrow rose to his full height beside her, his eyes clear, no trace of the fool he was mere seconds ago.

"Knockout gas?" Gordon inquired.

"Nordost-130," Qrow confirmed, slur gone, his voice sharp and professional, "Same chemical agent the Atlesian Special Forces pumped in the ventilation system back when the White Fang took the Pegasus Theater hostage couple years back. They stopped using it due to its toxicity."

Gordon's eyes narrowed into slits, "You think someone is trying to kill everyone in the hospital?"

"Wouldn't say so," Qrow brought out his scroll to text a quick response to Ozpin, then thought better of it, "The gas doesn't sting my nose, and I don't remember it being so fragrant. They probably tried masking it as a cleaning agent, going for a nonlethal, weaker dosage over a longer period of time."

"How does it affect those protected with aura?"

"Same as poison gas, standing on lava or open fires, aura'll hold it off automatically, though it'll sap at it with enough time. Hell, unless you check your aura regularly, you might not even notice it slowly eat away at your aura levels."

"And for those without aura?"

"Stronger doses? Dead. At this dose? Asleep or at the worst, comatose."

"They just wanted to put everyone to sleep then," Gordon removed her coat, revealing a black leather harness holding a standard issue VPD Gunblade strapped onto her hip. "I assume they're here for the same reason Ozpin sent you?"

Qrow's expression didn't change, "Probably."

Gordon sighed, then turned back to Qrow, glaring into his red eyes.

"I need to rally my men and stop this from evolving into a hostage situation," Gordon muttered, "Can you do what you came for on your own?"

"You got it, Chief," Qrow gave her a sheepish grin.

Gordon turned up into the hospital, the lights by the windows flickering every so often.

"When we're done this, I'll want a full explanation on what the hell's been going on, Qrow."

Something major was going on, and she didn't know jack shit. Atlas was out for someone's blood, crimes perpetrated by the Fang were spiking up and down respectively all over Remnant, influx of faunus refugees, multiple hits on Vale's dust supply…

There was some sort of game afoot here, and she needed to know what she was dealing with.

"Qrow?"

 _Wait a minute…_

Gordon spun on her heel, turning around only to see crow feathers fluttering mockingly in the air, right on the spot where her drunken comrade once stood.

"Prick."

* * *

The crow flew gracefully, rendered nearly invisible against the night sky save for its red eyes. It flapped its wings, slowly gaining altitude, gliding onto where the darkened panes flickered with the flash of gunfire and clashing steel.

Blood was on the wind tonight.

Spotting an open window, the crow flew harder, its beak opening in a twisted facsimile of a smile and –

 _THUD!_

"Squawk?!"

"What the fuck was that?" Jaune Arc looked over his shoulder. It looked like he accidentally slammed the window on the head of some bird that was flying in.

Jaune cringed, but resumed closing the window anyway.

I mean seriously, it was already freakishly cold tonight. Who would leave the windows open?

As soon as Jaune moved to investigate, the building itself seemed to rumble, and for a brief moment, his world was repeatedly thrown into alternating pitch-black darkness and disorienting bright as the lights seemed to flicker on and off.

For a second there, he thought he had caught a glimpse of some sort of creeping shadow at his back, but when the lights returned, it was gone.

 _Huh._

Jaune kept the Paired Sword and Shield of Crocea Mors raised high; the tingling on his palms refusing to abate.

Something was very, very wrong. Even when he departed the halls of this hospital just some time ago, he'd occasionally run into a janitor or some sort of roving nurse. Now, there was some sort of strange tension in the air, and though no one was around, Jaune felt he was being watched.

Jaune thought he would've gotten used to being watched since he, Junior and the Twins had technically adopted Penny as some sort of pseudo robot daughter slash pet but this was on a different level entirely.

With Penny, it was like staring into a starry sky and seeing something stare back at you, but here he felt like a piece of meat. He felt as if he were a mouse being given flirty winks from a cat that liked to play with its food.

Less existential terror and more terror-terror, if that made any sense.

Jaune tried to relax somewhat, and for some reason, the calming fragrance in the air made it easy, though it seemed to get stronger the more he went forward. He mentally evaluated his aura levels, and was pleasantly surprised to find himself still strongly in the green.

His mind unconsciously drifted back to the still-bleeding, still warm form of the hospital receptionist, slumped over her desk as if taking a short nap, and his grip on his weapons tightened.

There was a threat around the innocents in this building. He didn't know what use he'd be in a head-on fight without any dirty advantages, but damn it, he couldn't just do nothing.

This wasn't like fighting against distracted Atlesian soldiers while having excellent camouflage, superior numbers, and the element of surprise. This wasn't like fighting a huge robot while outnumbering it two hundred to one with all the volatile, unrefined dust of an Atlesian mining facility. This wasn't like fighting Winter Schnee with said huge robot and Penny up his sleeve, or more accurately, between his legs, no.

This would be him, alone, against an unknown number of enemy combatants, combatants willing to kill innocent people, doctors and sick people of all things.

His breathing became steady. He couldn't just let that go, no matter how powerful the enemy might be. He had to do something, if even all he could do was throw his body at them and bleed on their eyes.

It's what a hero would do, right?

Jaune turned to the next corridor, and his eyes widened at the sight that lay before him.

While the corridors and hallways he had passed by were white, clean, immaculate, empty and blank, this particular hallway was different.

The red of blood painted the stark white hospital tile and walls as if they were a canvas, dripping and seeping out of slumped-over bodies that looked as if they had simply been unceremoniously thrown aside like bags of rotting meat.

The next two things that Jaune noticed, was that not all of these bodies were alike.

While there were policemen, either slumped in their chairs unconscious, the other bodies were faunus, cheap, mass-produced, but no less deadly weapons and blades held in their hands.

 _The White Fang!_ , dread began building up in his nerves. _What are they doing here?!_

Another memory, buried in recent experience began to resurface in Jaune's mind.

It was the same day he had met Albus, and he had come across a White Fang encampment locked in mortal combat with the three bandits who had nearly killed him just earlier.

 _Are they here for revenge?_

A number of Fangs had surely been hurt or killed in the attack, and if what he'd learned of Adam Taurus was of any indication, there was no way in hell they'd call it quits just like that.

 _But still, all this effort for one girl?_

Then, there was the question of who defeated these officers and faunus in the first place…

Forcing his queasiness back, Jaune knelt by the nearest body, that of a female faunus nurse with a shattered gunblade in her right hand, and turned it over.

Jaune froze as he was doing so. He didn't notice it earlier because of the flickering light and the distance, but now that he was up close…

It was very faint, but the faunus's chest was still very slowly rising and falling.

 _She was still alive!_

Jaune allowed himself to breathe in relief. He never would've noticed her survival had her chest not been so thankfully big.

Calming down, his eyes roved to the other bodies. Now that he knew what to look for, he could find that they were all still alive, if not badly bloodied, beaten and bruised.

In fact, come to think of it, despite the grievous injuries that had been inflicted upon them, none of them were dead.

Though, come morning, a lot of them would wish they were so.

While Jaune was aware that his bladework was nowhere even approaching decent, he knew what the wounds inflicted by master swordsmen looked like, he called one of them father and seven of them sisters after all.

Jaune knelt over the well-endowed faunus nurse, scooting her bloodied skirt up by a few inches, uncaring of the blood beginning to stain his cloak. There, stretched out on her leg was a clean, lethal cut on her left thigh. Given that this woman was still alive, her attacker had missed the artery, and settled for a debilitating cut to the legs.

Jaune nodded in grudging acknowledgment of this mysterious attacker's prowess. This was a clean, textbook image of disabling an enemy with aura. Even if she regained consciousness, unlikely if the bumps to her head were any indication, then her aura would be expended on halting the bleeding on the barely-usable legs and keeping her alive instead of bringing her into fighting condition.

The rest of the faunus bodies were no different. Knees, ankles, wrists and elbows were dislocated painfully, the cartilage of said joints no doubt ruined, yet the bones itself were unbroken. Even if aura healed them, they'd need external help to reset those joints.

And by reset those joints, he meant that they'd need to break or dislocate them again because they healed the wrong way.

Various weapons, gunblades being the most common, looked to be shattered apart, probably broken in the seconds-long gap it took to transform from gun to sword. While mecha-shift weapons were built to take abuse, the same could not be said for the vital, sometimes delicate machinery within.

However, mecha-shifts took seconds at the most to transform. Whoever did this was able to strike with the beloved trinity of speed, precision and power.

Whoever did this applied the exact right amount of force at the right places on the body, at the right times. All the gun magazines were full, and all the blades weren't chipped; except for the blood splattered across the walls like the brushstrokes of a madman, there was no damage to the building at all.

They were eliminated, cut open like sheep and crumpled like scrap without even putting up a fight.

Hell, Jaune lifted up one of the blades and almost recoiled in shock. This blade looked as if it had been bent backwards by some circus strongman.

Intrigued, he brought it closer, holding it near his eyes. As suspected, this blade, while a cheap, mass-produced generic weapon, was still a sword forged of dust and steel, designed to pierce Grimm hides and stone alike.

Then there was the fact that the metal _bent_ but didn't break.

Jaune's palms began to itch. What kind of monstrous strength or unholy power made such a feat possible?

* * *

Pyr sneezed.

 _Was someone thinking about her?_

She blinked, and then looked around. The bodies of the Fang she'd subdued, splayed all across painfully around the corridor haphazardly like roadkill were still and unmoving.

 _Nah, probably not._

Her hands pulled the coat closer. It really was colder in Vale. Perhaps she should look into redesigning her outfit design into one that didn't leave her shoulders bare.

 _No wonder Jaune wore his cloak even indoors._

Wait.

Pyr stopped, and took a quick look at one of the empty hospital rooms. It was nice and clean, free of dirt and smelling of disinfectant, but what caught her attention were the nice, warm, white looking linen sheets laying unused on the empty beds.

 _I wonder…_

With a smooth tug, she pulled a blanket off, and wrapped it around herself, immediately feeling instant relief as the biting cold was held back by another layer.

Running her hands across the impromptu-cloak, she marvelled at how smooth and thin the cloth felt, yet at how it was able to retain heat and keep the cold out.

Despite the situation, Pyr took a glance at the mirror, and giggled.

 _Why, if you didn't look close enough, she almost looked like Jaune._

* * *

 _What kind of monstrous strength or unholy power made such a feat possible?_

Jaune continued walking through the corridors, eyes wide open, and shield raised high; peering at every dark corner and half-opened door as if the masked shadows of the Fang would burst out in ambush.

Jaune took a deep breath, then immediately regretted it.

The smell in the air was pleasant, yet extremely sharp, and it seemed to get stronger with every step he took. Not to mention that that sweet smell only seemed to mix perfectly with the acrid, rusty smell of quickly congealing blood, forming into small pools from the limp bodies littered around.

Jaune took one step forward, yet as soon as his foot touched the floor, the entire building seemed to shake, and the white hospital corridors were plunged into darkness.

 _A power shortage?!_

Flinching from the sudden tremors, Jaune had taken a quick, unconscious step backwards, and as soon as he had done so, his palms flash-froze, the blood in his veins instantly turned to icewater, his heartbeat stuttered into a cadenza, and his every instinct _screamed_ for him to do something.

 _He had bumped into something when he stepped back. Something that_ recoiled.

His mind conjuring up nightmarish images of Beowolves, and assassins, without a second thought, Jaune spun on his heel and swung his blade in a wide, clumsy arc.

Almost instantaneously, the itch in his palms began to subside, and the air, it was hard to explain, somehow became easier to breathe. As if on cue, the lights began to blink back on, once again illuminating the supposedly peaceful halls.

Jaune blinked, nervous energy once again leaving his arms and legs. What was that,? that was the second time tonight. Were his instincts going haywire? Was he getting paranoid?

A rush of irritation surged in his chest, what the actual fuck was he doing, slashing away at phantoms and ghosts? There was a real, physical threat right ahead, and he had no time for second-guessing at the dark like a little child! With a huff, Jaune turned around moved in a slow jog.

He wasn't far from the thief's room, just a little more…

Unbeknownst to him, a single lock of hair, pink and brown and white, haphazardly sliced off in his earlier slash fluttered softly into the floor, unseen. Its owner retreated behind the nearest corridor, panting heavily, _hungrily_ , with wide, white eyes and wider pupils, and a sharp smile blossoming on soft, pink lips.

Jaune took more steps forward, and things slowly started to change.

Like piecing together a jigsaw puzzle, Jaune read the surroundings.

This time, while the unconscious, crippled bodies of the White Fang were still soundly beaten, bullet casings littered the floors, slashes and scratches marred the walls, and bullet holes lined the surroundings.

This time, there was resistance.

The bodies of these faunus sported slashes and lacerations, and the typical dislocation and disabling he'd come to expect, but some others bore gunshot wounds.

Were it not for the regenerative capabilities of aura, Jaune had little doubt these men and women would've already bled to death.

Jaune picked up a few of the casings. Most were small and seemed to be the typical dust bullet used in the standard issue gunblades the VPD made use of, the other however… Jaune narrowed his eyes, were longer and slightly thicker, and if he was gonna take a guess, he was going to say it was from a rifle.

No one, from policeman to faunus terrorist here was carrying a rifle.

Jaune's grip on his weapons tightened.

Whoever this rifleman was, he was still out there. Jaune didn't know whether he was on his side, (although, what side was that exactly?) but he wasn't taking any chances. He was already aware that he was likely the worst combatant in the building, and aura was able to turn lethal wounds survivable anyway, he couldn't afford to ever hold back.

The building rumbled, shook again, causing dust to add to the fine mist beginning to swirl around, and knocking out all the lights in Jaune's immediate surroundings.

All lights, save for one, still-lit corridor.

Jaune knew exactly where that corridor led.

Jaune marched to the door, each step filling him with a building sense of foreboding and dread, like marching to his execution.

The footfalls of his feet on the floor echoed throughout the emptied halls, and the powerful fluorescent lights slowly died out as he passed them.

One by one, the lights blinked out of existence, pushing Jaune forward until he finally reached the far end of the corridor.

The thief's room.

Jaune raised his shield, and opened the door with sweaty palms.

Only to find… light?

As the last fluorescent bulb illuminating the doorway dimmed, Jaune was struck with an almost overwhelming sense of normalcy.

The mint-haired thief still lay asleep on her back, draped with a clean blanket and softly caressed by the pale light of the bright moon. An expression almost resembling peace rested on her face, and she looked almost angelic in the soft blue moonlight.

Seriously, were there any girls in Vale that weren't drop-dead gorgeous?

The paper bag where Commissioner Gordon had brought him his dinner still remained there by the table, along with empty paper cups that once carried coffee. A half-eaten sandwich lay there beside some half-perused files, and Jaune could almost see the stern commissioner with the gentle eyes sit there by the corner and frown at her papers.

 _Everything was where it was supposed to be._

Jaune let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

She was safe, the Fangs hadn't gotten this far, and the VPD had reclaimed the building.

The strength and tension in his legs left him, and before he could fall to the floor in an undignified heap, he sat by the chair to the thief's bedside.

The thief, as usual, didn't even stir.

All this trouble for just one girl. What was so special about her so as to prompt a White Fang attack on a hospital?

Jaune leaned over, moving his face very close, so close he could honestly kiss her, and regarded her vacant features.

He'd calmed down. No longer was his heart beating like an insane percussion line, and he could actually feel his fingers now, and he could hear Sister Sienna's calm, reassuring voice echo in his mind, advising him to take deep breaths and take stock of the situation.

Jaune complied. Okay, what exactly did he know about what was going on?

Alright, the first time he met her, she attacked him with her allies, the dark-haired archer with nice legs, and that maniac Roman Torchwick. He later saw them attacking the White Fang, which was probably the reason why they were here in an attempt to sate their revenge-boners. Then the police had detained her after she and Roman "Khaki Shorts" Torchwick had taken a bullhead filled with the most volatile substance known to man on a joyride above the Vale skyline.

Jaune raised an eyebrow. What was she, some kinda adrenalin junkie? Attacking random people and terrorist groups, and strapping enough explosive dust on a bullhead that Glynda fucking Goodwitch would use as a glorfied piñata wasn't exactly his idea of fun.

Was she some sort of unhinged, crazy huntress-in-training just like the harebrained blonde chick that clubbed Junior's Club?

The thief's calm, serene visage mockingly offered no answers.

The sound of the doorknob turning roused Jaune from his thoughts, and slowly, he distanced his face from hers.

It was probably just the cops. Alright, play it cool, Jaune. Play it cool.

"'Suup?" Jaune drawled nonchalantly, turning to the entryway.

It was then, Jaune realized that, no, these newcomers weren't wearing the navy blue of the VPD, nor were any of them wearing the tan longcoat of the Commissioner. Instead, these newcomers wore ramshackle outfits consisting of sleeveless white coats on black hoods, which in turn, framed the bone-white Grimm masks concealing their faces.

White Fang.

 _Ah, shit._

"Jaune Arc," the Lieutenant rumbled, hand firmly on the hilt of his chainsword as his men started flanking him, "You've got a lot of explaining to do."

* * *

The Lieutenant felt his body tense with both fury and trepidation as Jaune Arc raised an elegant eyebrow at his words.

Eyes hidden by the material of his mask, from the corner of his eyes he surveyed the reactions of his men and he saw only indignation in their stances.

He felt the urge to slap himself, _of course, they didn't know._

The video feed from Camp Omega was only shown to the upper echelons of Adam Taurus's warband. They hadn't been able to disseminate that standing orders on Jaune Arc were essentially 'retreat-on-sight'.

He slowly took in how nervous, excited and angry hands and fingers twitched to the grips of their blades and triggers of their guns.

He couldn't blame them. He could still hear the voices in his head, of his comrades, his kin, his brothers and sisters beg him for aid as they ascended the steps to the thief's room.

" _Sir, we need help! There's a huntsman here with a sword, and – aaAARRGH!"_

The sound of a blade piercing through steel, and a bloodcurdling scream.

Jaune Arc?!

" _-nemy has a white cloak, I repeat, the enemy swordsman has a white cloa –"_

The sound of a body being thrown into the floor, the sickening crunch of a foot stomping on bone, and a scream.

Jaune Arc?

" _Take thi- What the?! S-sir, the bullets just_ curved _, I can't belie –"_

The sound of gunfire, a gasp of surprise, a blade slashing through the air, a gurgle, and then silence.

Jaune Arc.

" _Contact! Enemy has a cape and is wearing white and…. What the hell kind of sword is that?! It's huge –"_

The sound of the wind shifting, a gasp, as if he was far away and suddenly up close, and a single, heavy swing of the blade. Crows clamouring for blood weakly in the background noise.

Jaune Arc…

" _Sir, we've found him! He's in the southern entrance, and … the crows! Sir, I swear to God he moves with the cro –"_

Gunfire and the flapping of wings, the crows had found fresh meat.

Jaune Arc!

" _GAAH! W-what the fuck, no, please, don't –"_

The sound of heavy steel crashing into lighter steel, the poor bastard must've tried to block one of his strikes, and the Lieutenant heard the blade shatter and cleave flesh.

 _Jaune Arc!_

" _Sir? We're at the third floor emergency ward, no sign of the ene –"_

The sound of shattering glass resounded, the sound of a blade entering flesh, and the sound of a faunus woman's death rattles.

 _JAUNE ARC!_

" _Sir, sir, sir, oh God we can't see 'em, he's in the shadows and there are these mirrors and glass everywhere and –"_

He left this one alive, to whimper and mutter over the comms.

 _ **JAUNE ARC!**_

The sounds of battle, the cries and pleas for mercy all ringing over their earpieces, the vistas of carnage that Jaune had gleefully left for them to see…

" _Jaune Arc,"_ Adam's voice spoke in his head, _"Is a threat, a psychopath hungering for violence for the sake of violence."_

Staring into the bored eyes of Jaune Arc, chin resting on a nonchalant fist, uncaring of the blood beginning to drip from his cloak; the Lieutenant couldn't help but agree.

This was the man who had more or less singlehandedly taken Camp Omega. This was the man who had picked off the Atlesians guarding Omega one by one, letting their comrades hear how each of their brothers-in-arms had suffered before they expired. This was the man who had looked content, happy, as long as he had his blade in warm flesh.

Chills ran down the Lieutenant's spine. What he had done to the Atlesians, he was now doing to them.

So this was the man who threw the most disciplined army in Remnant into mindless disarray. So this was the man who evoked such fear, horror and terror so intense and profound that he'd inadvertently called down hordes of the Grimm, extinction made manifest, just so he had more targets to kill.

The Lieutenant shuddered. Some of his spies had returned, reporting to him with haunted looks in their eyes. Of how they had seen some of the warriors that returned with Jaune from Omega, and how they possessed no faunus traits, no cat or dog ears, no scales, no antlers no nothing. In fact, if they didn't know any better, they would've believed they were _human._

That could only mean one thing.

 _He had his own men and women, his own faunus, cut off their own faunus traits, their own heritages, their own identities, all for the sake of the mission, all for the sake of battle._

 _And they_ _ **loved**_ _him for it._

And now, here he was, wet with the blood of his allies, his kinsmen and kinswomen, _his comrades_ , Jaune Arc remained sitting down, stroking the hilt of his blade, his eyebrows waggling suggestively.

A bead of cold sweat dribbled down his temple.

It all made sense.

He had nearly made the mistake of underestimating the boy, no, _killer_ in front of him as some naïve child back then. Had he lashed out at him, there was no doubt in his mind that he wouldn't even have had the time to regret that decision.

Jaune Arc had fought through the hospital, wading in the bodies of both attacker and defender, _he had cleaved through fang and policeman alike_ , all so he could enter this room to take advantage of Cinder's sleeping thief.

When he and his squad had entered the room, after all, his lips were on hers.

 _This man, Jaune Arc, was a_ monster.

Looking at his comrades, _who were ignorant of the monster in sheep's skin_ , and their barely-restrained trigger-fingers, he had to take control, quickly, before something happe –

"TELL ME!" cried out a young female voice, the same voice that had so casually tempted fate just earlier, "DID YOU DO THIS?!"

Jaune Arc merely flashed her a friendly smile, "Do what?"

 _No._

"DON'T PLAY DUMB WITH ME, _HUMAN_!" The female Fang Elite brought up her weapon, a high-powered shotgun, right at his chest, "ANSWER ME!"

Jaune recoiled back mockingly, and with what could've only been a fake, cracking voice, he spoke, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Beside her, her comrades roared furiously, and mirrored her, drawing their weapons and pointing them at the Arc, who himself had yet to rise.

 _Oh no._

"ANSWER HER, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!" the dog-faunus to the Lieutenant's left barked out, sword drawn and pointed at his neck.

Jaune Arc seemed to do a double take, snapping his gaze back to the female faunus with a shotgun trained on his chest.

"You're a chick?!" Jaune Arc exclaimed.

 _Oh God no._

The woman's trigger finger seemed to twitch, but before the Lieutenant could move to stop her, Jaune Arc thankfully raised his hands in a placating gesture.

The Lieutenant almost let out a sigh of relief. For whatever reason, it appeared that Jaune Arc's lust for blood was momentarily sated, and all he wanted to do right now was to molest Cinder Fall's thief minion.

That was _infinitely_ preferable to him ripping them apart and bathing in their blood.

Alright, all the Lieutenant needed to do was run damage control, let Jaune Arc do whatever the hell he wanted with the thief, and then they'd ask politely if –

"It's just a misunderstanding," Jaune spoke with a bright smile, "You're just, like, you know, the uglies… _most unattractive_ woman I've ever seen since I got to Vale."

The room had dropped so dead silent you could hear a pin drop.

The silence was broken only by Jaune's cheerful babbling.

"Oh crap, I mean you're not that unattractive, but compared to everyone else? Completely blown out of the water. I mean, I'm sure you're very pretty under that mask, but –"

She pulled the trigger.

Jaune Arc took the shotgun burst right in the chest, his aura flashing an almost blinding white-gold, a veritable sun in the darkness.

It wouldn't work. In addition to the vast amounts of aura reserves the Lieutenant knew Jaune must possess, he also knew for a fact that Jaune wore a breastplate of the same material as his shield and sword.

They'd probably need to hit him with something harder, like, say a grenade launcher, or a warhammer, or both of them combined to do any damage.

 _But who was insane enough to wield something like that?_

Still, for what it was worth, the impact from the high-powered, red dust shotgun blew Arc right through the hospital window, even as his eyes were wide with mock-surprise.

The Lieutenant felt his throat go dry.

 _He was toying with them._

They were so, _so_ fucked.

For a brief moment, the ignorant morons he'd called his task force were silent, before erupting in cheers.

"Hah, serves the asshole right!" sneered a male voice to his left.

"Filthy human scum," spoke another voice.

The girl who shot Jaune simply reloaded her shotgun, smoke still seeping out from the muzzle, satisfied smirk on her mug.

"Damn rapist bastard," she agreed.

With hands that were slowly becoming cold as ice, the Lieutenant reached out and tapped her on the shoulder.

The plan was a nice, simple plan. Go in, put everyone to sleep, grab the girl, leave, and buy toiletries for the base. They weren't supposed to lose around fifty of their infiltrators in one go, and they sure as hell weren't supposed to face off against _Jaune Motherfuckin' Arc in a hospital in the goddamn middle of Vale._

 _How? How the hell could things keep going fucking wrong?!_

"What did you say your name was again?" the Lieutenant found himself saying.

The girl shone him a bright smile, as her right hand went up to the upper brow of her mask in salute.

"The name's Mauve Finagle, sir! It's an honor to serve under you!"

 _Of fucking course._

The Lieutenant turned away for a brief moment, and activated the comms unit nestled in his ear, underneath his mask.

As expected, Adam Taurus responded immediately, "Lieutenant, how goes the operation?"

The Lieutenant's voice was fast and clipped, "The reserves, _all of them,_ send them now _."_

Adam's tones became urgent, bringing with them the promise of pain.

"What?! Report. What's going on, what's the situation?!"

Damn it, he didn't have time to properly explain what kind of clusterfuck they'd found themselves neck-deep in. He needed to summarize everything in as few words as possible.

"Jaune," the Lieutenant grit his teeth, "Arc."

Immediately, he could hear a wild sputtering of curses and swearing that was one part freestyle rap another part machine gun, and last part edgy teenaged ranting. The Lieutenant would've been impressed had he not been fearing for his life.

"Will you need air support?" finally rasped Adam's voice. The man sounded as if he had aged fifty years and shoved cinnamon powder down his throat.

"Please." Because Jaune Arc couldn't fly, right? _Right?_

" _Done,"_ Adam's voice was harsh. "Grab the girl and _go_!"

Finally, orders he could agree with.

The Lieutenant nodded gruffly, and made frantic motions to wheel the girl out immediately. Mauve, and the rest of the Fangs began to comply. They had to get the hell out of there before Jaune returned and this whole shitstorm became a bloodbath.

The Lieutenant cast a wary glance out the ruined window. The moon was bright and the skies were clear, and _Jaune Arc was nowhere to be seen._

 _Time to go._

Mauve and another Fang operative took point, leading the way. Then followed the Fang wheeling the bed, flanked by two other operatives, then finally, the Lieutenant himself.

He ensured the thief's hospital bed was moved extremely carefully and gently; unconscious though she may be, she was still powerful enough to face off against huntresses all on her lonesome.

The Lieutenant wasn't taking any chances. She was Cinder's thief, if she woke up, she could escape. No question about it. They didn't have time to chase her down with Arc on the loose.

The Lieutenant took the rear, watching at the shadows with faunus nightvision. Their spies cut off the power to the hospital's lighting as soon as they'd run into trouble. While the act had no doubt attracted some attention, it proved adequate to overcome the hospital's defenders, but they didn't count on the fact that they'd be running into Arc.

They needed to move with haste. Not only was Jaune Arc on the prowl, but by now, someone, either the VPD or the Huntsmen would've realized something was wrong. In addition, while the gas seemed to be seeping out of the building, it was already taking a toll on their protective auras.

They had only barely stepped outside the room when, without warning, the lights flashed on.

The lights had grown too powerful, almost blinding, draining the world of color and repainting it in stark black and white, a far cry from the normal fluorescent that usually lit up these halls.

Grunting, the Lieutenant brought his forearm to his eyes, shielding his eyes. Despite the blur and the glare, he spotted his brethren do the same.

 _What the fuck?!_

As soon as he their eyes had acclimatized somewhat, a figure emerged, white from white, growing from out of the floor into the vague shape of a man.

It was of the purest white, and wore the light like a hood, _like a cape._

With heavy footsteps, and the sound of shattering glass, the figure strode forward, its pace as inexorable like time and death itself.

The faunus task force stood ramrod straight, fingers on the triggers, but eyes uncomprehending and mouths agape.

Its head was shrouded, hooded, and the only semblance of humanity it had was a mouth.

They watched, enraptured, awe and terror beating in their hearts in equal measure even as the darkness from outside the windows began to creep in the white.

The mouth twisted into a cruel, playful smirk.

Their worlds were plunged into darkness as the white disappeared and all their eyes struggled to readjust, all of them, save for the wary Lieutenant.

The Lieutenant, seasoned veteran that he was, was reminded of flashbangs and kept one eye closed and shielded all the while.

When the darkness returned, he weathered through the stinging, closed one eye and opened the other, and what he saw turned his stomach and sent chills up his spine.

 _How the hell did he get up here so fast?!_

The white figure of Jaune Arc, hood pulled over his head, blonde locks peeking through, casually sauntered up to them, twirling his sheathed blade as if this were an afternoon stroll.

The Lieutenant's heart beat in his chest. The sheer malice he was emanating was enough to stare down a Goliath. Adam's words echoed in his head.

- _a psychopath hungering for violence-_

Had Jaune Arc grown tired of his games?

…Or were these his true colors all along?

The Lieutenant banished his fear, gritting his teeth together and _snarling_.

Well, it was about time. He'd grown tired of the civility and stability lately anyway.

Where his allies staggered back, blinded, the Lieutenant leaped forth.

The Lieutenant thumbed the activation trigger for his chainsword; its ferocious, razor sharp teeth roaring to life in the deathly silence as he threw himself forward, bidding his comrades to run.

In the shadow of an illusory white hood, no one noticed the figure's pink and brown eyes twinkle in amusement right before they faded into a deep sky-blue.

* * *

Jaune Arc blinked up at the bright, shattered moon, framed by the stars and dark seas of infinity as his cloak fluttered around him.

No matter how many times he looked up at it, he felt… at peace. The skies looked the same when he was a child, and they were the same now, calm, and detached from all the chaos and headaches of the world.

He took a deep breath for two reasons: one, to steel himself, and the other to hopefully ward against the motion sickness that was really beginning to hit him right now.

He risked a look over his shoulder, and through the winds, he could see how the details on the ground were very, _very_ quickly becoming clearer and bigger with every passing millisecond.

Alright, Plan A!

Jaune flailed his limbs uselessly as he freefell in an attempt to stop his fall.

It did nothing.

Huh, somehow, that plan seemed a lot more effective in his mind.

"Hrrkrrkrk," Jaune felt the bile build up on the base of his throat, a loving reminder of his motion sickness that it hadn't forgotten him.

Man, fuck this shit, he didn't have time for this shit, he had to find some sort of landing strategy, right now and – _wait a minute, what the hell is that?!_

Something bright glinted in the corner of his eye, and his senses suddenly began screaming for him to try to dodge.

Struggling like a puppy on cocaine, Jaune had only barely managed to angle his head out of the way before a magnificent javelin of scarlet and bronze came shooting past.

Jaune's throat went dry, had he not reacted, that spear would've skewered his brains like a kebab, instead, the spear pierced the tip of his cloak, pinning the durable cloth to the opposite wall of the annex building.

 _He was saved!_

Said thoughts were promptly dashed hard against the ground when Jaune realized that while his cloak was pinned, he was still falling.

 _Nope, no, actually, he wasn't._

He continued dropping, until unexpectedly, his cloak pulled taut, pinned to the wall, the drop would've broken his neck if not for his aura reserves.

"HHHRHRHRKRLGLGLGK", Jaune choked as he was hoist by his own outfit, his durable cloak now serving as an impromptu noose.

With dimming eyes, he cast one baleful glare, one last act of defiance against his murdere – _wait, what the fuck? That's Pyr, and why is she wearing a blanket?_

In the distance, even as his eyes began to blur, Pyr, blanket draped over her like a great, lumpy ghost,slowly covered her mouth with both hands.

"I'm sorry!" she exclaimed, all the way in the other building, "Jaune, I'm on my way, hang in the– _actually, NO, don't hang, HOLD ON!_ "

"Nhhhrrwkrkkr," Jaune quipped eloquently, his hands trying and failing to unclasp the cloak.

He'd had no idea if aura protected against strangulation, but where he was now, he had no further desire to find out. His hands fumbled with the clasps, but he just couldn't get those damn things off. Neither was the cloak tearing despite the added tension of his entire body weight, his backpack filled with his belongings, and his armor.

Damn it, just what was this thing made of?!

* * *

 **Years Earlier…**

"Happy Birthday, Jaune!" the Arc Sisters (except for Bianca) exclaimed, wide, goofy grins on their faces.

The celebrant, the tiny three year old Jaune Arc merely dipped his hand in a jar of glue and raised it to his mouth, giggling happily.

Indigo Arc raised a finger to her lips, "Isn't that bad for him?"

"Hah!" Rouge Arc slammed her fist into the dinner table, laughing uproariously, "Jaune is an _Arc_ , and Arcs do whatever the hell they want. Ain't that right, little brother?!"

"Gah!" Jaune giggled.

"Hell yeah!" Rouge roared in approval. "See that guys? Jaune over here's a _warrior!_ Here, watch this!"

Rouge flicked Jaune in the forehead, toppling him over his high chair and sending him crashing to the wooden floor of the manor headfirst.

"Ah, shit."

Six of the Sisters Arc immediately rose to their feet, all prepared to render some form of aid. Sienna Arc drew bandages and sutures from the small pouch she carried everywhere with her, and Sapphire Arc's fingertips began to frost over, ready to compress any boo-boos their beloved brother might've received.

Rouge scooped up the fallen Jaune, who, in testament of their great and noble lineage, was only beginning to sniffle instead of cry like lesser babies would.

"Viola, help!" Rouge screamed, "He's about to cry! Mom'll kill us!"

"It's too late!" Viridian Arc howled, pulling up her sleeve, revealing am arm infested with pulsating black leeches, "His biles have overcome his blood! We must drain his blood and restore balance!"

Viola Arc merely rolled her eyes, dipped her fingers in the fallen jar of glue, and thrust them into Jaune's mouth, where he resumed sucking contentedly.

Rouge Arc let out a sigh of relief. "Alright guys," she ordered, "Back into positions before Mom and Dad find out."

"Find out what?"

The Sisters Arc jumped in surprise, each of them pointing some manner of weapon at the voice. Viridian in particular flung a leech at the intruder.

There by the open doorway, a leech drinking its fill on her forehead, stood Bianca Arc, her stance neutral, her face impassive.

Slowly, almost solemnly, Bianca Arc walked forward, withdrawing a small box previously clipped under her arm and holding it out almost reverently with both hands.

While the rest of the sisters began taking their seats, Rouge and Bianca walked towards each other; the former with babe in hand, and the other a box.

"Hey," Bianca greeted.

"You're late," Rouge remarked. "You bring a gift?"

The right corner of Bianca's lips twitched upwards, and she slowly opened the box. With a flourish, she drew out a pure white cloak from the container, flowing like water from a fountain.

Rouge raised an eyebrow, "A travel cloak? Don't you think it's too big for him?"

Bianca dropped the bundled up cloth on Jaune. "He'll grow into it."

Rouge raised the other brow, "And if he doesn't plan on becoming a huntsman?"

Bianca mirrored Rouge's expression, her finger pointing at each of their sisters.

"Conceded," Rouge knelt down, digging Jaune's face out from the lumped up cloak. "Retains heat well, but it's really light. Looks strong too. I've never felt anything like it before."

"What's this thing made of?"

Bianca paused, before shrugging.

"Love."

* * *

Hung up on a noose weaved from his sister's love, Jaune had plenty of time to ponder on the worthwhile mysteries of life.

Namely, the ever-troubling question of, "was aura able to prevent death by strangulation?", like, could his portable soul force field harden his neck enough to still allow oxygen to get to his brain?

Jaune had heard of mighty huntsmen that perished in various seemingly inane ways. Take for instance, Jaune Doe, a mighty veteran huntsman whose body was ripped open, his face half-eaten, his left eyeball melted in his skull, an arrow shot through his testicles, both of his arms broken, and one of his ribs were removed and shoved up his bum.

Cause of death? Choked eating a pretzel.

Jaune shuddered, he hated pretzels.

"Jaune!" one of the windows burst open, revealing the worried features of Pyrene, still wrapped around in a blanket. "Just hold still, I'll get you out!"

Pyr, compassion and goodness burning in her eyes, reached out her hand desperately and –

"Hey Pyr," Jaune rasped out, waving a hand in greeting, "How's it _hanging?"_

– her hand froze midair, and judging from the look on her face, began seriously contemplating leaving him there. She closed her eyes, seemed to count to ten as Jaune tried to beg her for aid, before reopening her eyes and flicking her wrist, somehow pulling the javelin out from afar.

Jaune yelped as he resumed his drop, but before he could continue falling, Pyr had caught him by the forearm.

With one hand, the other holding her javelin, she pulled him up to eye-level.

Just to reiterate, she pulled Jaune Arc, plate armor, and backpack and all over an open drop with a single hand.

 _Damn, she's strong,_ Jaune stared wide-eyed at the vivid, green eyes of his rescuer.

Pyr, on the other hand, looked dishevelled, strands of brilliant crimson hair peeking out from the blanket she was using as a hood.

Jaune blinked, dumbfounded, as some sort of feeling of wrongness overtook him. White covering Pyr was _wrong_ somehow; she should be in gold and bronze and red and shining, _passionate,_ not aloof.

"Hello again," smiled Pyrrha Nikos, her eyes twinkling like emerald stars against the darkness and warm moonlight.

* * *

The halls were silent, save for the high-pitched creaking of the wheels of the thief's hospital bed.

Neo pushed her forth, her form still that of the mysterious Arc; heels clicking to a cheerful tune that echoed in the dark.

She'd had to admit, this was an eventful night, but still, it ended extremely anticlimactically.

She puffed her cheeks in irritation, for all the Arc had teased her earlier, he'd refused to bring his talents and swordplay to bear against those faunus animals. Sure, she'd completed her objective, but she'd failed to _get to know him_ aside from the common fact that he was really, really good.

Neo glanced at her illusory body. She couldn't see much of what was underneath the cloak, so she'd taken some creative liberties. Glancing at her reflection in a nearby window, she struck a pose; this Arc looked pretty damn good in tight, form-fitting leather pants. Perhaps she should add some chains and belts and spandex to the mix, he did have a surprisingly nice ass.

Heavy bootsteps stomping from the far end of the corridor roused her from her thoughts. A disgusting smell borne of both booze, sweat, and grime prickled her nose, and the gnashing sound of metal being dragged on the tile rasped in the air.

Neo raised an eyebrow.

From the shadows of the corridor emerged a figure in white.

She frowned. That was her schtick.

At first, she thought it was the Arc, yet, this figure was… broader? A little taller? More scruffy looking? He certainly smelled a lot worse.

"Well, well, well," the figure chuckled "I gotta say, shoulda expected to see you since I heard the Queen and the Fang were involved in this. It's just like when we were in the forest, isn't it?"

Neo blinked, _what was this guy on about?!_

"Not gonna talk huh?" the figure withdrew a simple flask from his hip and raised it to his lips, "That's cool. We got plenty of time to get to know each other, don't we?"

Neo leaned forward, peering sharply into the shadows to make out its face.

Chills started running down her spine as she did so.

 _She knew that face_

 _Ozpin's Executioner, The Left Hand, The Scarecrow, The Scythe of the South._

Qrow Branwen.

Neo's grip on the thief's bed tightened so hard it left imprints on the metal. _Should she abandon the Arc's form?!_ _No, he would know of her identity then, should she –_

With an earsplitting crash, all the windows in the corridor shattered.

Qrow had simply drawn his sword.

In one moment, Qrow's hands were empty, and in the other, the sword was just _there_ , drawn so fast and so powerfully she was nearly blown away.

It was then that Neo realized that one of Qrow's eyes, while traces of aura-healing _were_ present, was still bruised and darkened.

Qrow seemed to notice her staring into it and plastered a wide smile on his face. "Oh, this?" he pointed a finger at his eye, "You should know this, man, cause after all…"

Qrow's eyes flashed scarlet.

"You did this to me…"

Neo paled. _The Arc had managed to injure Ozpin's personal assassin?_

"…And it only seems right that I return the favour."

Neo's hands went to the hilt of her parasol.

Qrow hefted his sword up, teeth set in a wide grin, glinting in the twilight.

Emerald Sustrai, eyes still shut, turned in her sleep.

* * *

 **Chapter 13 End**

* * *

 **AN: A big thank you to everyone still reading this, your support makes it all worthwhile. Also, to everyone playing Overwatch, I would like to let you know that Tracer is evil and deserves to be strung up a noose and shot.**


	15. Chapter 14: Warrior

**AN: Welp. Sorry for the late update, beta was busy and I honestly just kept going because I couldn't find a good place to stop.**

* * *

 _How much is a single life worth?_

Councilman Matthew Riesling leaned back in his chair, stewing in his thoughts, heedless of the mighty voices roaring in the crystal halls making up the Valean Council Chambers.

"We must root out the White Fang!" Councilman Malbec, a boorish, bear of a man, slammed a fist into the large, elegant, and oh so very _expensive_ podium at the head of the halls, and the masses responded with cheers and applause.

 _How much is the White Fang worth?_

To Councilman Matthew Riesling? Quite a bit, actually. They were a useful scapegoat, policed the poorer faunus areas somewhat, and best of all, made the ever useful bogeyman to justify increased spending on weapons, arms, and huntsmen, and _oh dear were huntsmen expensive._

 _How much is a huntsman's life worth?_

Where Ozpin, in his farce as instructor and foster parent might say that each life was priceless and precious beyond belief; Riesling, in his role as a Valean Councilman would answer differently.

How much was a huntsman's life worth? Depending on rank, experience, age and Semblance, somewhere between thirty and a hundred fifty-million lien.

The production process of a decent huntsman was both expensive, and time-consuming, and time was money, so doubly so.

The costs begin with childbirth. Assuming said hypothetical child was born to civilians, costs incurred would include hospital bills, childcare products, diapers, milk formulae, medication, several years of pre-school education, an increasing expenditure of food, and the proliferation of media that extolled the virtues of Huntsmen.

When the child reaches ages five to seven, assuming the parents agree, the child would enter a combat school, and now the significant costs would include countless cases of dust ammunition, a ludicrous amount of different varieties of dust-steel for weapon creation, the premium salaries of Veteran Huntsmen pulled off active service, repairs to combat arenas, droids and machineries, medicines, and even more food.

The now-huntsman-in-training enters puberty. Hormones begin to rage, collateral damage is added to incurred costs. At around this time, they enter combat schools. More dust, and dust rounds, more dust-steel, more state-of-the-art protective equipment, more medical services and physical training, and a now-impossibly large amount of exotic food that they sometimes used to beat the living daylights out of each other with.

Oh, and also the abortions, antidepressants, and a staggering amount of therapy to add to the expenses now. _Damn teenagers._

And even then, with the exception of Atlas, assuming they didn't die on the field, and had an actually useful Semblance, all they had created with around fifteen to twenty years, and thirty to fifty million lien was essentially, a _mercenary._

 _An unreliable weapon for hire incapable of seeing the bigger picture beyond petty heroics._

That was, of course, based on the assumption that said fully-fledged Huntsman would remain loyal, and, you know, _not_ go rogue and try to bring down the very hand that fed them.

Riesling's old scars, particularly the one clean gash he had by his neck began to ache, and the accursed words 'Raven Branwen' came to mind.

That one was really something, and her ability to create portals was a complete game-changer.

Raven turned almost insurmountable obstacles like natural barriers, and distance, and logistics to moot points. A village was attacked near the border? Create a portal, insert Huntsmen team. Farmers near the outskirts starving because of famine? Create portal, send food or relocate them. Terrorist threat? Create portal, throw dust bomb. Pat her on the back for a job well done.

Uppity little revolutionary/politician stirring the masses? Create portal directly into the barrel of a dust-empowered minigun that could saw a Nevermore in twain. Connect portal to the fool's body point-blank. Click trigger. Repeat til they made the funny little gurgling sound.

His lips twitched upwards. Oh those were the days.

Although to be fair, if there were Ravens, then there were the likes of Summer Rose.

She was a true Huntress, in every sense of the word.

He nodded his head in reverence, before frowning a bit.

She also had amazing legs.

He nodded again.

Within every single huntsman was the culmination of years and years of work hours, machine hours, countless kilograms of dust, and dumb luck.

The infrastructure of Atlas's combat robotics had cost them quite the pretty penny, but it was cheaper in the long run, he had to admit.

Riesling cast a lazy glance at the crowds that assembled to Malbec's speech. He recognized a few from the news, the blonde near the front row screaming herself hoarse was the wife of a murdered SDC employee, the man missing his legs near the back lost them in a Fang attack, and so on. This entire crowd was filled with those same demographics. Riesling turned back to the people, even as they pumped fists in the air at the large councilman's proclamations and strong gestures.

"The faunus of the White Fang strike at the weak, at our civilians," the big man pushed forth, "And by the time we come forth with arms of our own, they hide behind _our own faunus citizenry_!"

"When the White Fang attacks, when innocent Valeans die and suffer to their atrocities, what do our faunus do?" With a bang Malbec slammed both his hands down on the podium. "They _celebrate!"_

Despite the growing urge to sigh, Riesling had to hand it to Malbec, he could play his part well.

"This. Will. Not. Stand!" Malbec emphasized each word with a corresponding fist on the podium. "Vale, no _, Remnant_ cannot face a war on two fronts!"

Malbec spread his arms wide, "We cannot fight a war against both the Grimm and the White Fang at the same time! For humanity to have a future, the White Fang must be destroyed!"

The audience burst into applause.

"This is no longer a war for morality or dignity!" Malbec spit the words out, "This is a war for _survival_ , and should our faunus minorities continue to shield the enemies of the Kingdoms, _then they too, have chosen to be our enemies!"_

Malbec paused dramatically, waiting for the audience to stop and hang on his next words with bated breath.

"We cannot uphold and raise their rights when every single faunus could be a terrorist, a Fang in disguise," Malbec's next words were solemn, "By allowing them more privilege, more unchecked freedoms, we put Vale and her people at greater risk."

 _How much is a civilian worth?_

"We are a democracy," his voice slowly gained power, "And while I truly empathize with the atrocities the faunus have suffered, I must make a decision as befitting a Councilman of the Unconquered Kingdom of Vale. _We are a democracy_ , and I cannot, in good conscience, decide the fates of the many based on the whims of the few."

"There's a situation near Central Vale," a rough voice spoke in Riesling's ear. Ahh, Winchester, ever so reliable. "Both the White Fang and Ozpin are involved, judging from the police reports."

Riesling narrowed his eyes. Ozpin was usually detached from what he considered to be minor threats, instead, focusing on whatever errands and agendas he sent his most trusted men on. For Ozpin to be invested here meant…

"Go," spoke Riesling. The man on his scroll, with his auburn hair, fine beard, and falcon emblazoned duststeel plate gave a stiff nod, before hastening to obey.

 _What are you up to, Ozpin?_

The scroll's display went off, and Riesling turned his attentions back to the crowd.

"The time has come for the faunus to choose between Vale and the White Fang. Between order, stability, prosperity and friendship, or the senseless violence and chaos they dare call liberty,"

Malbec's eyes roved the room, looking every inch the ruthless and martial leader he paid top lien to sell himself as.

"Together we are strong, and together we can forge a new, brighter future for Vale! But, in the end, the choice is yours, and should you choose to fight..."

His eyes hardened, and his face became stony. Not a single individual in the room believed he would not make good on his words.

"Vale shall either survive together with you, _or without you."_

 _How much is a single life worth?_

* * *

 **Arc of the Revolution**

 **Chapter 14**

 **Warrior**

* * *

What is a man if not his nature and nurture?

Human beings are a truly unique existence. No two humans, whether they were completely identical twins, would live exactly the same lives. No two humans, whether they were raised the exact same way, in the exact same circumstances, would make the same exact decisions.

Internal and External; Genetics and Experience, these are what make a man.

So what then, if one of these is taken away, stripped off, or perhaps, more accurately torn apart from a human being.

Take away all of a man's memories, scrub the slate clean, so to speak, until naught remains but his base self.

What changes? Given the same experiences, the same memories, will the man still make the same decisions? Would he still manifest the same Semblance, or would the soul remain ever constant?

What of a man's instincts and training? Does muscle memory itself fade away? What of guilt, what of hatred, what of old ingrained prejudices?

Would it truly be possible to wipe away memories? To turn back the clock? To truly wipe the slate clean?

To turn even the most hardened of criminals back to upstanding members of society?

Such things were unknowable before, when even the most precise pieces of equipment could lead to irreparable damage, but with the advent of the Semblance, in addition to our newest innovations in medicine, a whole new world becomes open to us.

Some may indeed deride my projects as unethical, and perhaps, rightly so. Yet, we remain a species in the jaws of extinction, hanging by mere threads. We cannot survive divided amongst ourselves.

Desperate times call for desperate measures, and should I succeed, then I might be able to save more lives. Indeed, men and women who have lost their sanities may one day be restored, and those on the death row may once again feel new life.

And so I ask, how much is a single life worth?

 **-Councilman Matthew Riesling,** _ **Rebirth Protocol**_

* * *

Vale.

Vale is the Southern Kingdom, though some would call it the Central Kingdom. Back in the tumultuous days of the Great War, the Valeans distinguished themselves through the fierce defense of their homelands, and their masterful use of food to tip the scales of the War.

Making use of both their lush forests and mountains, Vale was known to rout superior forces through the use of crude, but effective guerrilla tactics with lesser trained men. Taking advantage of the calm, narrow seas dividing the central continent from Mistral and Vacuo, Vale, also being the breadbasket of the Kingdoms, was able to both feed her allies with its coastal routes and starve her enemies with its navy.

Their deeds are represented in their personal crest of crossed axes wreathed by a crown of laurel leaves.

However, while Vale does indeed have the largest tracts of arable land throughout Remnant, she is not without her weaknesses. Vale possesses large, flat plains perfect for farming, as well as large forests, but as a result, expansion outside her Capital is close to impossible. As a result, Vale possesses a history of failed expansions, most notably the ill-fated settlement of Mountain Glenn, as well as countless towns and villages overrun by the Grimm on a monthly basis.

Her capital, the City of Vale is large enough to span an ancient city-state all on its own. Built on plains and plateaus, protected to the west by the sea, and to the south and the east by mighty mountain ranges along with its own powerful walls, the Valean Capital was built to withstand any enemy and any threat.

Even should the barriers, and the walls of Vale be breached, the Capital was built to withstand attack. Like a flower, or, perhaps more accurately, an onion, the Capital is divided into several layers of walls, each layer possessing farms, power generators, medical facilities, and defences, allowing each layer to defend itself. Should the Grimm breach its outer walls, then the citizenry would fall back to specially designated, out-of-the-way fortresses and shelters.

In the event of a theoretical Grimm attack, the Grimm would first need to overwhelm its outer walls, guarded at all times by the Huntsmen and the Vale Defense Force. Assuming the Grimm managed to cross that, the citizens of the outer layers would retreat to designated fortresses and shelters, capable of holding out for years all on their lonesome. The Grimm would need to cross each layer, as well as thin their numbers besieging said fortresses lest they open themselves to attack from behind. Cut off from reinforcements by Vale's natural barriers, and with their numbers divided, the Valean defenders would then be able to pick off its monstrous invaders piecemeal.

The names of its academies were fitting. The Kingdom of Vale was a Signal of civilization, a Beacon of hope for humanity, even in the dark depths of the ocean, and the shadowy hearts of the forest. Its strategies and contingencies relied on the relentless endurance of its valiant citizenry to outlast even death and darkness itself.

Vale was the valorous victor of the South, the Kingdom where Sea kisses Forest. Truly, it was known, that Vale was unconquerable, whether their enemies dove from the skies, rose from the seas, or gathered from the lands.

It was unexpected then, when the first and only time in recorded history that Vale was conquered, it was brought low from within.

 **\- Chartreuse Grande,** _ **The Old Kingdoms: Chapter 2**_

* * *

Jaune Arc paced through the empty, gray halls of the Alchemilla Hospital alone; dim emergency lights serving as the sole source of illumination in the gloom.

He pulled his white cloak closer to himself as his nerves and the cold seemed to work together in freezing his ass off. He could easily see why Pyrene was wearing one of the blankets herself. It was fucking freezing.

A sound echoed just around the corner, and Jaune immediately shifted into a defensive stance.

The oppressive darkness didn't shift one bit.

Jaune tried to steady his breathing. The Alchemilla Hospital Complex looked completely different shrouded in darkness, and along with the fact that it was built to serve as an emergency shelter for a sizable portion of Vale's populace, Jaune was trapped in a veritable maze.

Jaune continued walking forward, weapons clutched tightly as he peered left and right into the shadows for any sign of the White Fang. He grit his teeth; while he probably possessed some advantage in weapons and armor, the faunus of the White Fang could see in the dark and likely knew the place better than he did.

He couldn't let this stop him. While the sleeping mint-haired girl did try to rob and assault him in the past, he just couldn't leave her in the hands of the White Fang. Jaune nodded his head. The very idea of leaving an unconscious person, whether she was a thief, some forest bandit, or some rogue huntress, defenseless against her enemies disgusted him.

Besides, the police needed her as a lead to Roman Torchwick and whatever debaucherous bullshit he had up his tight khakis.

It'd be dangerous, and he'd be at a massive disadvantage, but… here, he had a chance to do some good. He had a chance to nip Torchwick's schemes in the bud and prevent future crimes from taking place. As long as the thief girl survived, it was possible as well for her to reform and turn aside her ways.

This… this is what a Hero would do right?

Jaune chuckled. Besides, he himself had a trump card up his sleeves.

 _Pyrene._

* * *

 **A Little Earlier…**

"… And that's how I ended up getting a shotgun to the chest and falling out the window!" Jaune finished proudly, looking up to his friend with bright, expectant eyes.

Pyrene opened her mouth as if to say something, then seemed to think twice and close it.

"I-I'm sorry," Pyr finally spoke, "Could you repeat that again?"

"Aww, c'mon Pyr, this is the third time!"

"I'm sorry!"

"Alright," Jaune cleared his throat, "So I was in the woods, riding this super-cool horse that I _borrowed_ , when suddenly, Roman Torchwick and these two mega-hot babes, one of which is that thief girl we're looking for, jump out of the bushes and attack me!"

Pyr blinked. "Roman Torchwick? The infamous criminal mastermind?"

"Yeah. Horrible fashion sense? Metal boots with tattered up khaki shorts? Poor personal hygiene that made my horse smell better in comparison? Edgy guyliner?"

Pyr was about to interject until she realized that that description actually fit VPD profiles on the man.

Jaune nodded his head gravely, taking Pyr's silence as permission to continue. "So, I escape after uhh, _totally kicking their asses_ , and then like, hours later, I see them attacking the Whi– _these poor innocent faunus refugees_ headed for Vale _!"_

Pyr blinked again.

"I know, right! Totally horrible. So I charge in with my aura-horse and –"

Pyr raised a weak hand in protest. "I-I think I remember now, Jaune. Y-you don't have to –"

"–and then I spent the next couple of weeks uhh… _doing absolutely nothing. Yes."_ Jaune finished, twitchy smile on his face and hands on his hips.

"B-but last time you said –!"

"Eh, details," Jaune waved it off. "So do you have any more questions?"

Pyr blinked again, trying to consolidate her grasp on reality.

She brought up a finger. "You ran away from home."

Jaune gave her a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck, "Heheh, eeyup."

She brought up another finger. "You ran into Roman Torchwick, the… khaki wearing maniac, preying on random faunus who, for some reason were in the Grimm-infested woods."

Jaune nodded, face serious. "Really tight khakis."

"… Tight khakis."

"Tight, tattered, grungy khakis. Really hugged his thighs well, yeah."

Pyr had to breathe with her mouth.

"You went to Vale, applied for Beacon, but failed because Glynda Goodwitch didn't think you were good enough."

Jaune's eye twitched.

"Then you met me, saved one of Roman Torchwick's henchmen from roasting in a random bullhead. Got shot by the White Fang who are, for some reason, here. Probably for revenge against Torchwick, for... ambushing faunus refugees in the woods?"

"You got it!", Jaune pumped his fist in the air. "So, will you help me out?"

"Help you… clear out the Fang?" Pyr blinked again, and looked back on the trail of unconscious faunus she'd had to knock out and cripple before she got to him.

"Yeah," Jaune leaned forward eagerly, "And save that thief chick!"

"Eh?" Pyr blinked.

"Please, Pyr," Jaune clasped both her hands with his, pulling her closer, staring into her dazzling eyes with his own. "She's in danger!"

"Eh?" Pyr blinked again, averting her gaze even as her cheeks heated up to a rosy red, "W-well, I was p-planning to anywa–"

Pyr turned back, looking at the expression on his face.

That was a mistake.

The corners of his eyes were tearing up, becoming visibly watery even in the fading light. He bit his lower lip in nervous, desperate hope, and he'd tilted his head downwards so despite his superior height, seemed as if he was looking up at her.

Pyr's heart stopped. He looked like a puppy. A six foot tall puppy with nice eyelashes, a fragrant hoody, aura reserves most huntsmen would kill to have, and weapons thought to have been lost in the aeons of time, but a puppy nonetheless.

"Please, Pyr?" Jaune pouted.

Through sheer force of will and ironclad discipline, she quashed the impulse to wrap him in his white cloak and bring him home with her.

"Pretty please?" Jaune's bottom lip quivered. For the first time in her life, she felt her resolve waver… and… wait, wasn't fighting the Fang what she was planning to do in the first place anyway?

 _Eh, why not?,_ Pyr decided. She'd already made the decision to protect this building and its inhabitants from the White Fang. _How hard could it be defending one more?_

* * *

In the end, Pyrene, his new favorite person ever, had decided to help him. Having charted out a mental map of the facility, Pyr suggested they stick together and rush to the various choke points and intersections she'd picked out. The Fangs needed to pass by one of these points regardless of which exit they were going to take, and if they rushed now, they might be able to intercept them. The only problem that remained was which direction their enemies were planning to take.

At this, Jaune had suggested to split up, allowing them to cover more ground, and monitor both sides. Also because that's totally what they did in movies. He never did see how those movies ended though.

Jaune's eyes narrowed at the darkness. His ears strained for the sound of battle, yet, if possible, the night seemed to grow even quieter; the only thing he could hear being his own frantic heartbeat.

Jaune reached for his scroll, having finally gotten Pyrene's number, before suddenly hesitating. His enemies were from the White Fang, possessing both the vaunted faunus nightvision and hearing sharper than his could ever hope to be. The bright light of his scroll and Pyr's voice could potentially give out his position.

He frowned, before remembering something.

He was moving to the Club, and so he brought everything he owned in the backpack slung on his shoulders. He still had the gear he'd worn in Omega in there.

Rifling through the pack, he'd found the earpiece and speaker he'd loaned from Keppel Azure "Kaz" Miller, and quickly attached it to his scroll. Those things really were useful, they barely let out any noise and even his whispers would be heard clearly on the speaker. Hell, if he was subtle, people wouldn't even notice him speaking into the mic. Man, he was never taking this thing off his scroll again.

"Pyr," he muttered, bringing a finger to the button on his right earphone.

He could hear a scroll being fumbled around before Pyr's voice answered him, "Jaune?"

"I'm in position, but no sign of the enemy," he whispered, eyes wide open and alert, "You?"

"No one," came her response.

His brows furrowed. Were the Fangs able to exit the building already? No, they couldn't be that fast. Did something delay them?

Still, they had to get done sometime, so the smarter decision would just be to continue wai– _his palms tingled, something was going very very wrong._

He froze, crouched in the shadows. One part of his mind screamed at him to cut his losses and get the hell out of here, but the other…

"Pyr," he rasped, "We need to get to the thief's room."

"We need to get to the thief's room."

* * *

Pyr raised an eyebrow, white blanket still wrapped around her like a hooded cloak. Just now, Jaune's voice was completely different. Something was up.

Still, if she continued on this route, contact was inevitable. She sighed, straightening up and taking a step forward.

However, when she took one step forward, two footsteps echoed in the halls.

Her eyes widened in alarm, her hands opened, her Semblance calling forth her weapons, and –

Three footsteps, then six, then twelve, then twe – _somebody was running at her!_

The sound of a gunshot –no, _cannon_ pierced the air, just as a muzzle flash lit up the darkness. A powerful impact struck Pyr's scroll, shattering the machine in her hand, and knocking it aside.

Pyr's surprise gave way to her hard-earned instincts, and trusting her intuition, she let herself fall backwards, hitting the ground just in time to evade a blindingly fast swing of a sword.

Pyr tumbled twice, pushing off the ground and landing on her feet, Milo, in the form of a Xiphos in her right hand, and Akouo raised protectively in her left.

Emerald eyes narrowed, calm under duress, under her white hood, as she took in the details of her attacker.

Illuminated menacingly against the cheap glow of the emergency lights, her enemy cut a menacing figure. In his hands was a large, ornate, segmented blade, and attached to its hilt were shotgun barrels and gears.

Careful not to make any large movements, she subtly reached out to the powerful weapon's innards and gears and weaknesses with her Semblance, and _squeezed._

This was no tournament bout. Lives were on the line, and if she could break his weapon before the battle even began, then all the better.

To his credit, as soon as he'd felt something, the man wrenched his blade out from her grasp, his aura flooding in it and overpowering hers, but the damage had been done. While she couldn't shatter it, she'd been able to damage its mecha-shift mechanisms. For better or for worse, his weapon was locked into that sword form.

Pyr's eyes narrowed further, she couldn't break the weapon, it was extremely powerful, forged of extremely high-quality materials, and he'd been able to exert his aura on the blade to counteract her magnetism to some extent.

This man was no ordinary warrior.

Slowly, her adversary stalked out of the shadows, revealing a scruffy-looking man with dark hair, a black eye, and several aura-closed wounds on his face. Most striking, however, were his eyes, red like blood, _red like roses_ , dripping with ill-concealed malice.

Indeed, as she was slowly beginning to learn, Qrow Branwen was no ordinary warrior.

Pyr widened her stance. This close, in a relatively narrow hospital corridor, she didn't have much room to manuever around.

Whether she wanted to or not, this battle was going to end up a slugfest.

Qrow took one look at Pyr and finally spoke, sneering.

"So, finally decided to stop running, eh? Still, these're some pretty good scratches you got on me."

... _What?_

Mind games? Pyr remained stoic, despite the urge to wince at the smell of this barbarian's breath. He reeked of mud, grime and alcohol. Pyr carefully ran her Semblance on her surroundings, taking stock of every pipe, every piece of metal she could possibly use.

Her grip on her weapons tightened as she saw the man casually step forward. His sneer grew cocky, and somehow she could feel the smug douchebaggery emanating from it.

Pyr felt pipes directly underneath her feet, right below the floor tiles. She began wrapping her Semblance around them, her stance unwavering, her eyes never leaving her enemy.

The man continued walking, expression unchanging.

In the breadth of mere seconds, she had charged the wires, the pipes, _the metal,_ beneath, around, and behind her with her Semblance. Using herself as a reference, to her left, she had charged all the metal negative, and to her right, positive.

The man continued walking, bored, smug, _amused._

 _Not for long though_ , Pyr thought. Feeling the push and pull of the corridor metals on her armor and weapons. She didn't want to kill, but… Pyr shivered inside. This man was something else.

The man lifted his sword and rested it on his shoulder, his left hand reaching up to pick his nose.

The tiles beneath Pyr began to crack. The force pushing her forward intensifying with every millisecond that she had to exert another charge on the metal in her feet to hold herself down. She fed more aura into her Semblances, _into the charges_ , and the push crescendoed, building up like a flood held by a dam. _She just needed one shot and…_

The man was mid-step when he closed his eyes and yawned, his mouth opened wide –

 _THERE!_

The dam broke, Pyr released the charge holding her in place.

She shot forward faster than a speeding bullet, the alternating pulls and pushes of both positive and negative charges propelling her forward so impossibly fast that she was a streak of white and red.

She charged forth, crossing the distance between them in less than a blink of the eye, weapon poised for his neck. An opening strike, _a killing strike._

The blade swiped almost cleanly through the air, just nicking at his aura.

He whistled, sounding almost impressed.

"...Almost as fast as the Schnee," he muttered.

 _What..?_

Manipulating the magnetic charges of her greaves, her armor and her surroundings to slow her charge, she spun around in midair into another battle stance.

Her enemy was still picking his nose, _and he'd angled away from one of her fastest attacks at the very last second._

She grit her teeth, and pushed forward again, slower than before, but still extremely fast, slashing at his shoulder.

The man leaned back and dodged the strike cleanly.

She used her Semblance to reverse her momentum, striking with all her strength from the other side, a strike he surely wouldn't have expected!

The man stepped back, and the tip of her blade sliced through thin air.

With a grunt, she took hold of his blade with her Semblance and pulled it and its wielder closer, right in the path of a quick, magnetism-enhanced thrust of her blade.

The man simply spun on his heel, looking for the entire world like he was having fun.

Almost as if it were a dance, Pyr erupted into a dizzying array of kicks, slashes, stabs, feints, shield bashes and strikes, all of them enhanced by both her Aura and Semblance.

Milo never touched the man's flesh.

The man merely swayed, turned his head or body, sidestepped or backstepped away, Pyr trying to unbalance him with her Semblance the entire time.

Pyr refused to relent, he simply had to make _one_ mistake and it was over, she pulled her arm back and struck and –

A grimy hand snaked up and clutched at her wrist, halting the blow.

Immediately, she tried pulling her hand away, but his grip wouldn't budge.

"You know, that's a really interestin' Semblance you got there," the man stepped closer. "You're almost as tough as I thought you'd be. You got guts, kid."

"Huh?" she let out.

The man's face turned almost wistful, "The way you speed up... you remind me of someone. You're almost as fast as her."

He leaned close, so close Pyr could smell his breath.

"Just a couple years of experience, just a little more control and power on your Semblance, just a little more ruthlessness, and you'll probably be the greatest huntress Remnant has ever seen."

Pyr barely had enough time to blink before the man twisted, sending an elbow straight to her face.

The sharp blow bashed her nose, and Pyr was sent reeling back. Despite her significant aura reserves, a small trickle of blood began leaking out from her nose.

 _What?_

The man, _the huntsman_ raised his gigantic blade, pointing it steadily at her. With a voice that held grudging respect, and, _was that pity_ , he spoke.

"You're almost there, but right now? It just ain't enough."

* * *

"Dammit, this just isn't enough!" Jaune swore.

Just like a set of hands encroaching on a slender neck, no, fuck, that wasn't working. Uhh, just like the early bird and the… no, uhh… Jaune wanted to run the hospital map display through with his sword.

Like a tightening noose around a man's neck, yes, that was it, the plan was for him and Pyr to slowly converge on the thief's room, where they absolutely _had_ to run into the Fang!

It was a perfect plan. Jaune was about to pat himself on the back until he took a step in an unfamiliar corridor and realized one very important detail.

He had no idea where the fuck he was.

In hindsight, he had entered the building and made his way through a completely different route, with the aid of the comforting (and maybe a little scary) white fluorescent lighting of the hospital. Perhaps he should've realized that crashing out a window, being pinned to one of the annexes, and fumbling in his way in the dark wasn't the way to go.

Jaune stared dumbly at the hospital map.

 _Shit, how did he get out there last time?!_

He blinked. Last time?

Now that he thought about it, this situation was eerily familiar. Stuck in a dark, labyrinthine maze, people in danger, enemies possibly lying in wait for him, stroking their murder-boners anticipatorily behind every corner…

Huh, déjà vu.

There had to be someone who would help, someone he could call for…. But who?!

* * *

Miltiades Malachite lay splayed on one of the plush leather couches within her room in the Club, appropriated for both her personal use.

Unlike the other rooms in the club, the ones made for private parties and _productive_ purposes, the rooms she, her sister, and Junior used were much smaller and tastefully decorated. They were each built like apartments, and hey, they didn't have to share bathrooms now, so that was definitely a plus.

Her own room was furnished in soft, warm reds and creams, from her curtains to her bedsheets, to the very couch she rested on. Her TV remained on, droning some inane babble about a dust shop robbery being stopped by some prepubescent, pint-sized huntress-in-training

Yawning, she stretched her arms and legs, eliciting satisfying cracks from weary bone. It had been a tiring day, Jaune had escaped before he could perform the chores they'd dumped on him, they'd needed to secure the safehouse and move their belongings back to the Club. While renovations were doing fine, it'd still be a couple of weeks before they could reopen.

Fumbling, she kicked off her shoes, curling and uncurling her stiff toes. For some reason, every time a guy, like Jaune, was over, Hei Xiong Junior always made damn sure they wore those weird socks and sandals. Still, they were pretty damn comfy, she might wear them for real one of these days.

A jingle started playing from the end table beside the couch; her scroll was ringing.

She raised an eyebrow. Who could this be?

She had just enough time to accept the call before the speaker just _screamed_ at her.

"MILTIA!", came Jaune's panicked tones.

"Oh, hey, Jaune. Like, we're ordering take out from that Mistralian place. You want any –"

"I need to talk to Junior or Pe... actually, wait, you'll do," he interrupted her, his voice so urgent that she actually leaned forward. "If someone's life depended on it, would you go left, or right?!"

Miltia blinked, "Wha..?"

"Left. Or. Right?"

She blinked again, "Left."

The scroll promptly disconnected.

She frowned, something was up. No, dumb statement, something was always up with regards to Jaune. The question was… what?

The campy semi-urgent news theme song interrupted the mindless drone of the TV and roused Miltia from her reverie. Her eyes immediately fell on the screen, and what looked to be a decently-sized formation of police officers forming a cordon around the entrances of some building.

" –in the morning. I am Lisa Lavender, live in Eastern Vale. We're reporting on the deaths on at least seven, _no,_ eight VPD officers and an undetermined amount of guards on what appears to be a bloody and brutal hostage situation happening in the Alchemilla Hospital. Which, as you all know is –"

Her jaw dropped, just as a familiar feeling of dread began to creep up her spine.

Her door opened, revealing her sister Melanie entering the room, face pale, hair dishevelled, and dressed in baggy pyjamas. She'd apparently heard the breaking news too.

"-Perpetrated by the White Fang. So far, they have given no demands, and there have been no negotiations, although several amongst their number were located beaten and unconscious and have already been taken under police custody."

"What are the chances it's Jaune?" Melanie asked, sitting next to her.

"Though they suffer grievous injuries and concussions, some still remain conscious, and medics are trying desperately to keep them awake. Strangely, the only things they seem to be coherent enough to do are to beg forgiveness from some sort of figure in white. This reporter believes –"

"So much for laying low." Miltia's voice was dry.

This job sounded a lot simpler when Junior'd 'taken' it. She released an exasperated sigh as she rose from her soft, soft couch.

They had some work to do, it seemed.

* * *

"Left," came Miltia's voice.

Jaune immediately turned right and started running as fast as he could.

He'd been living with the Twins for about half a month now, and Miltia's title of Red Unlucky One wasn't just for show. He grinned, he'd get there in no time!

A flicker of cheap blue light flickered in his vision, and Jaune paused momentarily.

Flickering blue lights were coming out of a broken-down door to his right. Jaune halted his advance for a moment, intrigued. The lights and power were knocked out early in the night, yet the flickering lights were obviously electrical in nature.

He paused by the door. This one, unlike most other rooms, was heavily reinforced, and looked like it had been broken down quite forcefully from the outside. Jaune studied the damage for a couple of seconds; it looks like it had been broken by a particularly large sword.

He entered, and immediately recoiled from the light.

They were monitors, screens upon screens of footage.

Jaune blinked repeatedly, allowing his dark-attuned eyes to adapt to the sudden light.

 _Of course_ , Jaune realized. Aside from serving as a hospital, this complex could also serve as a fortress or shelter in times of emergencies. While the main lights and other utilities would die, more important functions such as the emergency lighting, the life supports, the food storages, the sauna rooms, and the camera surveillance networks would remain active, hooked onto another power source.

Jaune looked around. While the bodies of White Fang operatives, both alive and dead, littered the room, there were also several guards who lay asleep by their posts.

Jaune moved closer, eyes never leaving the screens. One side was lit up, while the others were simply displaying either gray static, or the ever-mocking words of "Display Lost".

His heart leaped in his chest as he noticed two things.

To his left, to the lit camera feeds, he could spot the thief on her hospital bed, seemingly abandoned in the middle of a random corridor, soft moonlight filtering in through the window, illuminating her like a prize. Her eyes were still closed, blissfully unaware of the dangers and the chaos now unfolding around her like a storm circling around its eye.

Jaune paused a short moment. Why was she alone? Where were LT and his Fangs?

To his right, however, was black. The screens were displaying either gray, messy, static, or "Display Lost" over a dark background. Jaune's breath hitched in his throat, those areas were where Pyrene was supposed to be, before he promptly lost contact with her.

His grip tightened, the aura-empowered fingers digging into the desk.

The thief was alone! He could simply grab her and leave, and he'd be done with this damned hospital. The thief was the objective, the key to a master criminal's trail! Capturing her would also mean one less bandit hounding the Valean countryside!

On the other hand, Pyr wasn't responding, and all the cameras near her last known location were either disconnected or disabled. His friend, the one he unknowingly threw in the line of fire was in danger!

Jaune's brows twisted downwards, his expressions morphing into a scowl.

Pyr was in danger, and she was his friend, but at the same time, she was far stronger than he was. She was a trained huntress-in-training who trained, the Kingdoms would fall and Hell would freeze over if he could beat anyone who could beat her. If he wasn't going to be able to contribute, would it not be better to just head straight for the thief, especially now that she was actually alone?

But on the other hand… Jaune lifted his right hand up, and called forth his Semblance.

Slowly but surely, a small weak glow, flickering between white and gold, weak like a dying ember, began to burn in his palm.

He needed but to touch her to give her strength, to replenish her very soul, to give her the hope of victory from the jaws of defeat.

If she was engaging an enemy or a group of enemies, it was likely that he wouldn't be anything more than a meat shield or a distraction, but with his Semblance…

If she were exhausted, he could bring her up to full. If she were wounded, then charging her aura would close her wounds.

But what if she was winning, and going to her would only mean that the White Fang would get the Thief?

Jaune shut his eyes. The thief? Or Pyrene?

Thief?

Pyrene?

Thief?

Pyrene?

The thief with smooth, toned skin the color of spiced chocolate, stylish mint-green hair framing an exquisite face, eyes holding both danger and mystery in every strand of red, an enthralling mystery wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a very thin nightgown?

Or Pyrene, brimming with silent confidence, creamy skin holding power in every strand of muscle, her eyes gentle, her posture straight, a living visage of nobility, strength of character, and peerless skill, a very personification of the virtues of a Huntress, of a hero?

"Aaaah, fuck it."

Jaune opened his eyes, steeling his face into a mask of grim determination, not unlike that of a man going to meet his executioner.

Thief, Pyrene.

To get to Pyr, he had to pass by the Thief anyway.

"I'm taking them _both_ ," Jaune declared, briskly turning on his heel, and resuming his run.

However, as soon as he had turned and ran out the door, the monitors, whether they were disabled, blackened, or active, all flashed a very familiar, haunting shade of green, before reverting back to their unassuming blue.

* * *

Left.

Jaune immediately took a sharp left, his cloak billowing behind his back like a phantom.

Straight ahead, up the stairs, then take a right.

Jaune barrelled through the featureless corridors. Slowly, they were beginning to look more and more familiar with every turn.

His eyes narrowed. This complex really was a damned interesting piece of work. He hadn't been paying much attention, but after seeing the camera feeds in the control room, he could notice the very carefully hidden surveillance cameras mounted subtly on the walls and corners. Jaune would have never had a chance to detect them had he not known where to look.

A tiny flicker of hope grew in his chest. It was extremely likely that these systems had alerted someone on the outside. The Huntsmen maybe? This _was_ one of Vale's most important fortifications after all, never mind that it was currently being used as a hospital.

He briefly regarded the camera to his left. It was a large, bulky thing with a dull blue light being emitted on its form.

The way these watchers were assembled was pretty damn clever. They'd left some of the older, larger models out here where they were moderately hidden but still relatively detectable.

That one was bait.

Behind it and surrounding it were several smaller cameras.

If a complete amateur like himself passed by, he wouldn't even notice that he was being watched. However, if someone with experience in this spy bull were in his place, he would, with some effort, find the bait camera and find some way to elude it or disable it, unaware of the smaller, hidden ones in the bait camera's blind spots.

At least, that's what he thought.

Jaune passed through another corridor, before something caught his eye.

One of the bait cameras, instead of pivoting lazily in the corridor seemed to stare at him and track down his movements.

He took a few steps left. The camera followed.

He took a few steps right, and the camera followed still.

He stared back at the machine eye. There was something off about this one…

The boxy camera matched his gaze, the green light being emitted from one of the bulbs on its head almost blinking mockingly.

 _There was something awfully familiar with that blinking light._

As Jaune leaned in closer to investigate, however, the light quickly switched back to blue, and resumed pivoting, watching over its area.

Jaune shook his head, and spun back to his path.

He couldn't afford distractions. Not here, not this close.

His grip on his weapons tightened as a very familiar tingling began numbing his palms. Not very long now…

Jaune turned past the last corridor, blade drawn and swinging in the air as he raised his shield.

His eyes darted around his surroundings. He expected to see the LT in wait, chainsaw-sword… or was it chainsword, at the ready, with a squad of seething faunus warriors toting their guns menacingly at him.

He did not expect a clear, straight corridor, with what remaining light the room had lighting up the thief's features like some sort of light at the end of the proverbial tunnel.

He took a tentative step forward, until he realized something.

The tingling in his palms did not abate.

 _There was still danger here._

His heart began to pound in his chest like deranged children would a piñata.

This… this wasn't the first time this happened tonight, had it? No, this happened twice now. Were his senses wrong? Was he worrying needlessly, but-but this danger sense of his had never been wrong before!

Pushing his doubts at the back of his mind, he took another step forward, and heard shattering when his foot touched the floor.

He blinked, and looked down. At his feet, were tiny, sparkling, twinkling little shards of glass.

Shocked, he turned to the side. He didn't notice it, but all the windows in this corridor had shattered. They weren't the same shattering caused by gunfire or stray strikes, but they'd looked as if they had all shattered instantly, grinding the panes into a not so fine dust.

The walls and the floors also looked devoid of damage. There were no bullet casings littering the ground. There was clearly a battle here, but he could find no signs of such.

His heart beat faster with every step he took. Cold sweat dribbled down his cheek, just as his throat grew dry and limbs grew cold.

Risking a look over his shoulder, as expected, he saw nothing. Yet, all the same, his instincts continued _screaming_ impending danger, and absolute death.

He honestly had half a mind to scream and swing his sword blindly around him now.

It was a tiny noise that alerted him.

It was the near-inaudible crunch of glass under a shoe, or perhaps a boot.

 _He wasn't alone!_

Succumbing to the pleas of his instincts, Jaune spun, shield clutched and covering his upper body.

Not even finishing his turn, sparks erupted on the white metal of Crocea Mors' paired shield. The screeching of metal on metal rang in Jaune's ears as the sparks tapered off to the side of his shield. He felt a very familiar pressure on his left arm as he suddenly struggled to keep it up.

This feeling, Jaune knew it well.

Someone had slashed at him.

From where the enemy's blade had met his shield, he could guess that they were aiming for his neck.

As soon as he had processed this, an inexplicable glint appeared midair, sailing straight for his face.

He barely had enough time to duck before _something veryverysharpholyshit_ scraped at the hastily-strengthened defensive aura above his brow.

Had it landed, had his aura been less reinforced in that spot, it would leave a cut, a cut that would bleed and leak into his eyes. A cut that would bleed into his eyes and blind him for precious seconds before his aura closed it up.

History, even that of his own family, had no shortage of powerful huntsmen who'd died inglorious deaths because they were caught off-guard and their unprepared auras were pierced momentarily.

Aura was both a passive and active defense. Passive in that it was always there, covering you; active in that it became much stronger if you willed it to, and weaker if you didn't.

There were even cases of Huntsmen being defeated by lesser adversaries, such as one Huntress who was knocked out cold by a single punch in the solar plexus, her aura failing to cushion or defend against the blow.

Jaune rapidly stepped back, intent on forcing some sort of distance from his enemy as another strike met his shield, bright sparks scratching off its surface.

It was faint, but thanks to the way the glass shards on the floor reflected light and stirred, he could see… _something_ move quickly after him!

He grit his teeth, attempting to force back his fear. He couldn't last like this, he was confident (to some extent) in his aura reserves, but he couldn't keep taking hits from an invisible foe that could pick him off at their leisure.

The glass shifted, and a _shadow_ moved forth, something sharp glinting where its hands were, straight ahead, right at him!

Jaune raised his shield, but he was moments too slow.

A small rip appeared in the front of his cloak, sailing right for his chest, _for his heart._

 _CLANG!_

Jaune had never been more thankful in his life for his armor.

A stabbing weapon, thin, judging from the new hole in his cloak, struck his chest, attempting to find purchase in warm flesh and lifeblood only to find the cold rejection of the Arc Family's secret dust-steel.

Reflexively, Jaune swung his sword in a blind, wide swing.

There, if he had any lingering doubts before, they were gone now, _he felt it_. He felt the winds shift, there was someone here and he or she had just dodged his strike clean.

Jaune quickly raised Crocea Mors again, the ancient blade singing in the air, poised to deliver another strike again.

"Gah!"

Or at least, Jaune would have, had not he been struck twice in the time it took to raise his weapon.

As he was raising his blade, a fist struck his temple like a sledgehammer, and as he recoiled, what felt like a knee burrowed its way into his gut.

Jaune swung his shield in a wide berth, striking nothing but air.

A sharp boot crashed on his chin, a sharp jab landed on his nose.

 _Dammit._

Each shot scraped at his aura reserves. He'd withstood worse, but…

He thrust his sword forward.

An uppercut to the jaw, followed by an elbow to the cheek.

 _Damn It…_

He spotted another glint of steel, and he raised his shield, blocking another possibly deadly cut.

In response, a swift kick had battered his temple. An iron grip had taken hold of his arm and threw him to the ground, and a fist smashed into his throat.

 _DAMN IT!_

Jaune quickly scrambled to his feet, but as soon as he had gotten up, he was struck with this grim sense of finality.

Jaune blinked, everything seemed to slow down.

He could sense it, the drawn blade of his assailant, aimed, and shooting straight for him, right between his eyes.

And then it hit him. No one was coming to his aid, it was just him and this shadow. No one was coming to save him, no one was coming to save the cops, or Pyr, or the thief and the patients.

All of these people were going to die.

He was going to die.

He'd… he'd never even gotten to tell Pyr how he felt.

His eyes still remembered how radiant her smile was, how he could simply stare into her eyes and gaze into happiness itself. How her very smile put to shame the most beautiful sunset kissing the Valean coasts. How her eyes made even the magnificent Atlesian aurorae look dull!

They'd had but a few hours together, but he could honestly say they were some of the happiest moments of his life.

He needed to get out of this. He needed to at least tell her his feelings, _how much she meant to him._

And he wanted to tell her…

 _…_ _How much of a really great super-best friend she was to him!_

His unseen enemy's blade struck him right between his eyes, sending him falling on his back.

His eyelids began to sag, his vision began to blur, and his mind seemed to swim in and out of unconsciousness. He… he couldn't feel his arms and legs, and his weapons had never felt so heavy in his life.

A treacherous voice, whispering sweet promises from the back of his mind began to surface.

 _It's alright, Jaune._

 _You've done enough._

 _It's okay, just close your eyes and rest._

Jaune's eyelids closed slowly. His fingers slowly released both the paired shield and sword that was Crocea Mors, and he knew no more…

 _We're proud of you_ , the voice whispered once more.

 _Wait, what?_

Jaune's eyes shot wide open. His spine burned as if someone had replaced his bones and blood with motherfucking lava. His hands clenched his weapons in a death grip, as if it were a lifeline.

Now he definitely knew that voice was lying. No one had told him that ever! Damn, defeatist shit voice.

With a defiant snarl rising from his throat, Jaune slowly clambered to his feet. Blood flowed freely down his lips; he had accidentally bitten his tongue when his motherfucking coward of an enemy hit him with that sword.

 _What the fuck was this bullshit?!_

He could feel eyes on him as he slowly took a battle stance. Now his enemy decided to mock him by not attacking?

 _Fuck._

Jaune shifted the straps on his shield, moving it further up his forearm, freeing his left hand.

 _Fuck!_

Taking up his sword with both hands, Jaune gripped Crocea Mors as hard as he could, his white aura flaring like a lighthouse holding back darkest storm.

 _Fuck this!_

Strength pouring down his arms like an angry god, Jaune hefted his sword high, and charged. Unconsciously, aura poured down his throat, steeling his breaking voice into an impossible bass, as if the earth itself was screaming obscenities.

" _FUCK YOU!"_

Jaune charged on ahead with all his strength, every furious step he took leaving small webs of cracks on the sturdy tile. With all the momentum of a heavy charge and the aura of the ancient line of Arc, Jaune poured everything he was into a single strike.

The slash sailed through the air, shining a most brilliant silver, marrying the white-gold aura of Jaune and the pale light of the moon. It was, by all definitions, almost a perfect strike, a marriage of speed, power, determination, and unquenchable purpose.

In a blinding arc, Crocea Mors swung and –

 _WHOOSH!_

–and promptly hit nothing but air.

As his strike missed, right before the inevitable counterstrike hit him, Jaune closed his eyes, and swore never again to watch those lying-ass shonen Mistralian animes.

A dainty fist crashed into his nose and sent him slamming into the floor yet again, finally pushing his aura into the yellow.

Staring up at the ceiling, Jaune frowned.

 _Yeah, crap, this was not working out._

He quickly rose to his feet, eyes darting around frantically as he braced himself for another attack.

A shadow flickered to his left; he spun around and raised his shield… no, the way the winds blew, _there was something blocking the breeze to his right_ , wait, no–

His instincts screamed and shouted, vying for dominance in his ear. There were so many tells, so many signs of where he knew his enemy could be, preparing to attack!

The sound of a boot stepping on the floor resounded in front of him.

 _Attacking head on, a step-in, possibly a lunge or a –_

A glint of sharp steel to his right.

 _Angled blade, raised shoulder level, could only be a cut to the throa –_

Another tell.

 _Blade poised for a stab –_

 _The enemy is charging, do somethi –_

 _Slash incoming at eleven o clo-_

"DUCK!"

Jaune ducked, and as soon as he had done so, the screeching of metal on brick echoed throughout the halls as a scratchmark appeared on the walls, perfectly aligned where his throat would be.

All the voices paused, then grudgingly conceded. _That works,_ they spoke in unison _._

Jaune straightened up, eyes wide and confused. What the fuck was…

"BLOCK LEFT!"

Trained from years of mindlessly obeying the whims of his way _waaay-_ more powerful sisters, Jaune's body moved almost automatically, bringing the gleaming shield to bear to his left in a middle guard.

 _CLANG!_

He brought his shield up right in time to smoothly deflect what would've been a stab at his midsection. Sparks flew from the shield as the blade slid off metal, gnashing all the way.

"BLOCK RIGHT TEMPLE!"

Jaune immediately parried with his sword, and as soon as he had done so, Jaune felt his sword connect with something, before a glancing blow had scratched his shoulderplate.

Jaune's eyes widened. When his blade struck, space itself seemed to _shatter_ before his eyes. The feeling was off too, it had felt like hitting brittle armor, but instead of the resistance of steel, seemed to break apart like glass.

He'd managed to throw off the attack, at least. Jaune frowned, judging from how it felt, he'd just batted away a kick, which meant that his enemy was…

The 'crack' in space was moving, yet it lingered in front of him. _That had to be a leg!_

Using the crack as a reference, Jaune retaliated once more, swinging Crocea Mors upwards with a powerful rising slash!

In that almost solemn moment, the old blade almost seemed to shine as it rose through the air, crashing into a nigh unseen obstacle before completely breaking through it, shattering it like a polished mirror.

Like a shell, the 'glass' fell away, revealing shocked white-colored eyes, framed by silky hair in hues of pink and brown.

Jaune's chopped lips grew sharp, as his eyes narrowed into baleful slits.

" _I can see you,_ " he rumbled.

Seizing the moment, he swung again just as his enemy, this girl in white, struggled to regain her balance. Seeing no other option, she brandished a fine, thin blade from her parasol.

Sparks rippled through the air as she managed to parry away his attack by mere millimetres.

The air seemed to ripple, before the girl's face twisted in a fearful grimace. With a clumsy thrust, she lunged for Jaune.

Jaune raised his shield and charged, blade raised and –

"BLOCK UPWARDS!" a shrill, familiar voice screamed in his ear.

Jaune complied, swinging his shield overhead.

Almost immediately, the advancing girl's form, blade and all, crashed into his aura, shattering like glass. Another illusion.

At the same time, Jaune's shield sailed through the air, and with an immensely satisfying _CRUNCH_ , Jaune felt glass break on his shield, and was treated to the wonderful sight of the girl tumbling helplessly to her side.

Her plan became obvious. Using a feint, bait him to guard low and strike unseen from above, yet as soon as she had thrust her sword forward, his shield had crashed into… her elbow, judging from the way she clutched at it, eyebrows furrowed.

Towering over her, Jaune spoke.

" _I can touch you."_

In another blink of an eye, the prone figure in his midst disappeared yet again.

This time, there weren't any footsteps. No more glinting swords, no more mocking movements.

The tingling in his hands, the fear, struck him full force.

It appeared his opponent was finally taking him seriously this time.

Jaune shut his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath.

"She's coming," the voice in his ear warned.

"Yeah, I thought so," Jaune shrugged, whispering into the speaker.

"You're not afraid?" the voice seemed hesitant to ask.

"Terrified," Jaune admitted. "But not as much as a little while ago."

"Huh?" the voice rose higher in confusion. Jaune almost smiled, if he wasn't sure of the voice's identity before, he was sure of it now.

"Thanks, Penny. I'm guessing the other guys are there with you too?"

* * *

"Sadly," muttered Miltiades Malachite, her scroll linked to her sister and to Penny in an impromptu teleconference.

Whether through unspoken agreement or a not so uncommon stroke of ill fortune, they had chosen to convene in Miltia's room. What was once a moderately tidy, cozy sanctuary for her was now strewn with monitors and wires and the like, all of which displaying a very familiar set of images and camera feeds.

With Penny bridging the gap, they essentially were able to create a full copy of the camera feeds in Alchemilla's security room.

As for Penny herself? She began to see through each of the screens as if they were eyes, extensions of her own mangled body, such that they actually had to blindfold her after she complained it made her head hurt.

Oh, and she also had fun messing with the screens and monitors, distorting their images by drawing in bright neon-green caricatures of flowers and smiling suns and various genitalia like some cross between a pre-schooler and an internet shitposter.

Miltia and Melanie traded a wordless glance, resolving to blame this on Junior. They never should have showed her the internet, Jaune was going to kill them.

They'd spent two to three goddamn weeks cooped up with each other. They had to do something to pass the time, even if that meant experimenting on the bullshit soul magic and technology that made up Penny. She'd done it once in Omega, and she'd done the same here.

Miltia and Melanie traded another meaningful glance. A little persuasion, and she'd also be useful for their and Junior's ends as well.

The moment their veritable command center was set up, all their eyes were drawn to Jaune's battle.

With one camera, one point of view, they might not have been able to see it, the tiny shadows dancing on the dimly lit floors, the tiny distortions akin to looking on the edges of a glass here and there, but then, they had more than one point of view.

It was like staring into a mirror, they realized. No, that statement was wrong...

It was like staring into a set of extremely fine mirrors.

Miltia and Melanie traded glances through narrowed eyes. They knew of only one person who fit that bill.

Roman Torchwick's little pet, the little ice cream girl, Neopolitan.

The little bitch.

They'd seen hints and bits of her Semblance. They'd seen her pull amazing getaways that left them grudgingly impressed, leaving behind what appeared to be a full screen of an afterimage as a decoy. They'd known she was able to alter her clothing and appearance to some extent, but the question was, how? While Semblances were unexplainable bullshit that left even the most brilliant Atlesian scientists looking like gibbering illiterates, they at least had _some_ logic to it.

Now, seeing her Semblance in action against what was probably the sturdiest meat shield on Remnant? Neo's abilities had begun to make sense.

She was wearing an extremely thin, extremely fine set of mirrors. Around four, they were guessing.

Light would project itself straight forward, into a mirror, which in turn would redirect light into yet another mirror, which in turn would reflect light into another, and into another, and into another until it formed a near seamless image of what was in the background.

As a result, from Jaune's point of view, he was actually staring dead straight at her, but his vision was redirected by the overlapping and parallel mirrors she wore until all he could see was the background, giving her an illusion of invisibility.

A magician's trick turned into a butcher's tactic.

Neopolitan had essentially woven for herself an optical cloaking device with her Semblance.

They'd had to literally exert effort not to whoop in triumph when Jaune bashed her with his shield.

In the hands of an experienced warrior, even the dumbest power was useful, yet, every Semblance had its limitations.

The problem with her shell of mirrors, was that it was only effective from one direction, one line of sight. Neo compensated by readjusting and rotating her veritable cloak of mirrors around and around, matching Jaune's line of sight.

One on one, and she could remain _invisible_ indefinitely.

Neo probably didn't count on at least seven cameras in that hallway alone. Tsk, she was sloppy tonight, how embarassing.

Miltia and Melanie traded another knowing glance when Neopolitan had again 'disappeared'.

From what they knew of her, brute force was honestly never Neo's strong suit. Neo's main strengths and proficiencies lay in her speed and ability to disrupt and counter her enemy. What use was raw power when Neo could simply evade the blow and counter, using her own enemy's momentum and force against them? What use was raw power, when her illusions could obscure her form and mask her attacks?

Indeed, against the most offense oriented huntsmen, the kind who attacked first and asked questions later, there was no way she could lose.

Against Jaune however, she would need to take the first step. He wouldn't make the first move, and he was far too defensive for any decisive openings. She'd been pounding him for minutes and only barely knocked him into the yellow.

Movement to the far side of the corridor stole their attention. The silhouette of a blade appeared on the screens, and using the image of three monitors, they could see distorted images of the petite killer as if they were tears in space itself.

Melanie rose from her seat, eyes wide and wary, "Guard your right!"

Jaune hunched over, making himself a much smaller target and raised his shield. Neo's blade merely glanced off of it.

Miltia nodded. While his swordplay, if it could even be called that, was abysmal, his sense of self-preservation and skill with his shield was…

Melanie shouted, "Overhead!"

Jaune raised his shield up, clipping Neo's blade before it could even complete its descent. Despite Jaune being, well, Jaune, he immediately thrust his sword forward, glancing off of the glasslike layer Neo had wrapped herself in.

Kicking off the wall, the distorted figure soared, diving onto Jaune in what looked to be a spinning kick, rending through reality itself.

This time it was Miltia that stepped up. In mere milliseconds, her bright, sea-green eyes traced the spin and trajectory of what had to be Neopolitan's pointy-toed boot. There was no way she could be wrong. Her voice strong, she called out to her knight.

"Block right!"

Jaune, in an almost heartwarming display of pure trust, followed without hesitation, heaving his shield to his right and –

–and promptly took a spinning back kick from Neo right in the face.

"No, no, _my_ right!"

"Damn it, Miltia!" rasped Jaune through the comms.

The twins tensed as Neo followed through on her attack, jumping forward in a wide lunge, her sword swinging in the air.

Melanie and Miltia took hold of the speaker simultaneously.

"Block to your le–" "Guard high!" two nearly identical, twin voices screamed simultaneously.

Jaune complied to the latter, Miltia's demand, and raised his shield up high, leaving himself open for the stab to his abdomen.

The blade tore at his aura, and left another rip on Jaune's already worn and threadbare hoodie.

"Stop helping me!" Jaune whispered harshly, "Penny, please take over."

Miltia and Melanie traded glances yet again, the former breaking into a sheepish smile, and the latter rolling her eyes.

Two more rips appeared on Jaune's cloak and clothes.

"Oh please, please, please, Penny take over, help. I don't know how long I could keep doing this!"

* * *

How long had she been fighting?

Neopolitan jumped back, narrowly avoiding another swing from that obscenely sharp and heavy sword.

As she landed on light feet, an almost blinding stinging made her right arm shake, and her left hand reflexively went to clutch at her wound.

She… she didn't know the extent of the damage on her arm. Whether it was bleeding, or just heavily bruised, or whether Ozpin's Executioner had broken the appendage, she didn't know.

What she did know was that she thought herself lucky she was able to escape Qrow. Illusions meant nothing to a man willing to cleave the entire corridor to strike her. The man was a beast, and even her strongest blows failed to make the guy stagger.

She'd only been able to escape after leading him on a short goose chase until something… or someone else distracted him.

She'd thought he'd run into the Arc.

Her lips twisted into a depreciating smile.

Then she'd run into the Arc himself, mere inches away from where Emerald Sustrai slept.

Even as she was invisible, her eyes never left the bright, cold eyes of the Arc.

She changed hers from brown to pink and… in cases like this she couldn't help it, white, but his eyes... They scared her.

She felt an unfamiliar thrumming bloom within her chest, even as she questioned whether this was what the moth felt as it gave itself to the flame.

Even as she weaved in and out of vision and senses, his eyes, burning with unconcealed malevolence, never failed to meet her unseen orbs.

At first, she had thought she could win.

For all the skill the Arc _must_ possess, it didn't matter if he couldn't hit her, she thought, and for a brief couple of minutes she had been right.

She struck, and while he could sense her to some extent, he couldn't fight back. For every swing, every move he made, she had been able to land two more clean blows on his form. She would not hesitate to admit that every time she touched him, it had been absolutely, impossibly cathartic, sending pure, undiluted joy jolting through her nerves and causing her toes to curl in her boots.

His cold eyes slowly gave way to what she recognized as fear, and it had grown with each blow, each minute blemish upon his immaculate form.

She drank upon his fear and despair, never feeling more alive than that moment.

Slowly, as if peeling the bones and scales from a fish, she struck. Making sure she delivered the most damage, _the most pain_ a human being could feel, without touching anything vital. She'd began cutting up his pretty little cloak, staining it red. She looked upon his untouched, baby skin soft face and poised her blade to carve scars, her own personal brand of artwork on his flesh.

She struck and sliced and diced and slashed, each motion of her blade tearing at his aura, and for brief moments, she had believed that his aura was finally being overwhelmed.

Reveling in her pleasure, she had almost forgotten the pain throbbing in her arm.

She stepped back, taking joy in the fact that he could sense her to some extent, and decided to have fun. She made a little step back, and the Arc responded, bringing his shield up. She drew her blade from its parasol-sheath, and he immediately turned to block it. He was simply a puppet playing on her strings, and all this time, she had been afraid of him!

Neopolitan never noticed that it was her who was in his strings.

Foolish and ignorant, Neo had pulled her sword back, aiming for the Arc's slender throat, and stabbed.

His eyes shone, and he ducked cleanly.

 _Wha..?!_

In a picture perfect move, the kind photographed and displayed on textbooks, he had fluidly ducked cleanly out of the way of her blow.

She clutched at her chest, feeling her heart stop.

 _What was wrong? Did the Arc manage to pierce her aura, but she still had some left_ …

 _No_ , Neo realized. The Arc was simply looking at her, crouched, burning baleful eyes blue as ever.

She twisted back, unleashing another devastating attack, only to be repulsed by his shining white shield.

She felt the dagger in her heart bury itself deeper as the Arc maintained his gaze, unflinching.

Desperately, she launched a high kick directly into his right temple, only for him to parry away her heeled boot with his sword.

Her eyes widened as she was thrown off balance by her hasty attack. She had been careless, open, vulnerable. From the glint in the Arc's eyes and the way he was about to brandish his blade, he knew it too.

With a single stroke, he shattered the illusion she had wrapped around herself.

She staggered back, visible and unprotected, veritably _naked_ to him.

And he spoke words so terrible she felt it resound through her bones.

" _I can see you,"_ he declared.

She had left behind her afterimage, cloaking herself and using an illusion as a decoy to get a decent hit in.

True to his words, he had seen right through it.

He caught her outstretched arm with a decently powerful swing of his shield, sending her crashing into the ground.

And as he towered over her, he spoke again.

 _"_ _I can touch you."_

 _No, no, NO!_

She had leapt back, cloaking herself in illusion yet again, and charged at him.

At first, she had still been able to land moderately powerful hits upon his frame, but as time went by, she had begun to learn something.

He was getting better.

At the onset of their dance, she had been dominant, playing at her own leisurely pace, dropping hits and blows on him while he blindly followed, only barely able to defend himself.

But as it went on, he had slowly become faster. His movements became more compact, his strikes more accurate, his predictions more precise.

He was studying her, dissecting her as one would an animal.

But surely, Neo reasoned, she was still doing more damage to him than he was to her. Surely he would tire out, and his aura would collapse, yes?

As if to answer her, the Arc's blue eyes grew ever so mocking.

As the high of impending victory began to flicker away, a sharp, dull, painful throbbing began to bring her back to reality.

He was never in danger to begin with, she realized. Each strike she had landed, each punch, each kick, each stab, were all useless, superficial, either because she had decided to play with him or because he had prioritized to block and guard against every fatal and critical blow.

But as for her…

She had been burning up her aura carelessly. She had had to divert aura to mitigate the damage she had received in her altercation with Qrow Branwen. Her illusions, while useful, also cost her to maintain, and she'd been using it liberally all night.

No, the Arc wasn't getting faster.

She was getting slower.

He had the upper hand all along.

She couldn't retreat and leave behind Emerald Sustrai, who would no doubt prove to be a link to her and Roman.

They both fought in close quarters, yet he stood several heads taller than her and weighed far more. She thrived in places where she could hide, and dance around her foes, where he probably fought best in narrow corridors where he could capitalize on his shield and heavy armor, _just like in this corridor._

Where she had to engage in elaborate movements and expend her aura recklessly to attack, he merely had to lean forward and angle his shield a little to defend.

Despite a shotgun to the chest, he was fresh and ready to fight. Her aura was in the yellow since Qrow. All her hits felt like, no, they were useless, and whatever strikes he'd managed to get in struck true.

This… this was her last chance to defeat him.

She leaped forward, unleashing an onslaught of kicks, punches, slashes, stabs and thrusts at his calm form. Her hands, her hips, her elbows, her sword, her sheath, her feet, her knees, her heels, everything she had was a weapon. For every move he made, she struck him six times.

He merely held his ground, and deflected the worst of her attacks with his shield. Whatever he could not guard with his shield, he redirected to his armor. Whatever attacks remained after that, he simply took them, accepted them, and they barely managed to dent his aura.

When she let up, he stepped forward and slashed.

He missed.

She struck him five times.

Again, through blessed trinity of shield, sword, and armor, he withstood the storm.

He struck again, missed.

She struck him four times.

He struck again, missed narrowly.

She struck him thrice.

He struck again, shattering her illusions once more.

She struck him twice, he didn't even bother blocking the hits this time.

He baited her.

He dangled the hope of victory before her eyes and she had opened her mouth wide, only for him to take it away.

He struck last, knocking her blade from her shaking hands.

 _"_ _I can beat you,"_ Jaune Arc declared. No boasts, no inflections in his voice.

It was a declaration of fact.

...And she didn't know if her ears were playing tricks on her, but she also heard a bit of awe lacing his tongue as well.

Her aura was in the red now, she could feel it. With her aura exhausted she no longer had the ability to force her wounds closed. She… she knew she couldn't fight anymore. She felt for her legs, and they crumbled like jelly.

She fell backwards, and she tried to fight her eyelids as they attempted to close.

She wanted to remember that sight, to burn that moment into her eyes.

That of Jaune Arc, his stance still locked into that of a final strike, his cloak fluttering in the moonlight, seeming to keep the shadows at bay, his eyes still ever locked on her mismatched ones.

It was no hoax.

So this was the man who struck fear in the heart of Atlas, the Conqueror of Omega, the bane of the Huntsmen.

 _He's not bad_ , Neo admitted.

She closed her eyes, and let herself fall to the floor.

…

…..? Eh?

Before she could fall, a strong arm grabbed onto her waist, pulling her close.

Her eyes opened, half-lidded, all she could manage, as she stared towards the bright, terrible, glowing, cold, _beautiful_ azure-cerulean eyes of Jaune Arc.

She'd had no aura to maintain illusion, nor illusion of power, and her cream-white eyes stared back.

His face was calm and neutral, though it had the cloudy expression of someone in deep thought. After a few short moments, he sighed, and this time, pulled her close to an embrace.

Before she could react or protest, a drumbeat began to resound in her ears. A powerful, two-step beat almost like marching or dancing began to echo in her weary body.

She blinked. This… this was a heartbeat.

She gasped as something white, for lack of a better word, _flowed_ to her from where the Arc held her. It looked almost like a white fire, burning gold near the edges, setting all her nerves alight, and in a good way, and feeling like hot water being poured over cold and aching muscle.

Was… was the Arc doing this?

The Arc's brow furrowed, and Neo could feel the flames, _his aura_ , in her body coalesce around her bloody arm, flowing and burning until the pain began to subside, and burn away.

She could feel her own heart beat stronger, speeding up, slowing, and speeding up again, until the two rhythms ceased to be, and simply beat as one.

 _I want to be okay,_ a thought that may not have been hers humming in her muddled thoughts.

Neo began to feel… warm.

A warmth that had nothing to do with the heating of her cheeks.

Even as the cold wind buffeted her body, all its aches and pains began to subside, and she was warm.

Her eyes began to grow heavy. When was the last time she had felt this comfortable in her life?

She was descending. Strong arms were slowly lowering her to the floor, and even after her eyes had shut, she could still see those two brilliant orbs of blue.

* * *

"You _healed_ her?! Like, what do you fucking mean, you healed her?!" Miltia shrieked in his ear.

Jaune winced, resting Neopolitan against a wall. "Sorry, uhh, if it's any consolation, I only restored enough aura for her wound to stop bleeding?"

Jaune immediately ripped the earpiece out as Miltia's voice exploded into a wide variety of expletives, most of which were about parts of the human anatomy doing things Jaune had never even thought possible.

"Umm, Jaune?" an identical, yet calmer voice took the speaker, Melanie then. "It's… uhh, like, a generally bad policy to heal your enemies especially when they're still in a position to take you down?"

"But c'mon, Melanie, she was bleeding out!"

"Yeah, and I'm like, pretty sure that's the only reason why you won."

"Oh yeah," came in Miltia's voice, "Was wondering why she looked way slower compared to how she usually is."

Jaune's shoulders sunk. "You mean all this time I was beating on a half-dead little girl?!"

"Well, like, to be more precise, you were the one getting beaten on for the most part. You just kinda tired her out, I guess?"

Jaune deflated, his weapons finally lowering as the adrenalin left and the itching in his palms stopped.

"Umm," Jaune could almost see Penny bite her lip, or whatever passed for a lip anyway, "At least you won? I mean, she's supposed to be a famous criminal right?"

Jaune felt a smile come to his lips as he opened them to thank –

"Still a half-dead little girl with a broken sword arm," interrupted Miltia. "Don't get cocky, Jaune. You're still in a building filled with criminals and the White Fang."

Awww.

"Still," Penny's voice asked. "This Neopolitan is a capable combatant, correct? I wonder where she obtained the injury to her arm."

"Like, good point," Melanie agreed. "Could you bring your scroll camera closer to her wound, Jaune? So we could take a better look?"

Eyebrows furrowing, he complied. Things were pretty weird, and the injury looked like a mixture of a blunt and cutting wound. Was she hit by some sort of bladed club? Since she still had aura to fight him, all signs pointed to someone capable of dealing damage aura couldn't mitigate completely.

What level of brute strength could do that? It honestly sounded like someone on par with Sienna, or maybe even his parents.

He frowned. He needed to get the thief, then get Pyr, then get out of there.

Without wasting any more time, he dusted himself off and moved to where the thief still slept undisturbed.

Standing over her bed, Jaune pondered momentarily about what to do before releasing an irritated sigh. Shrugging, he put away both sword and shield, and stepped closer.

With one hand supporting her neck, and the other hand behind her knees, he gently started to lift her up.

It almost felt like a scene from the olden fairy tales. A white-cloaked knight clad in shining armor lifting up the delicate, lithe form of a maiden in distress, caressed by the moonlight. Only that this maiden was a dirty thief-bandit-huntress, probably hailed from fucking Vacuo, and they needed answers from her, dammit!

Lifting her up in a bridal carry, and deciding to shake her a bit to get used to the weight, Jaune carried the thief and began to walk, all the while humming a cheerful tune.

"Umm, like, Jaune?"

"Yes, Miltia?"

"Didn't you, like, have a friend that was in danger in the other side of this building?"

"Oh crap, Pyr!" Jaune twitched, accidentally letting go of the thief chick.

With a resounding thud, the girl fell on her hip, rather painfully if Jaune was any judge.

"Ouch!"

Jaune froze. That voice came from the girl he just dropped!

Logically, Jaune should've immediately drawn his weapons, and ensured that his prisoner was properly incapable of fighting back before doing anything else. Problem was, as soon as those thoughts entered Jaune's head, he had already reflexively knelt down to assist the girl.

Welp. It'd look awkward if he knelt down, already helping her up, only to drop her again and draw his weapons, so he decided to just bite the bullet and just pick her up.

Besides, he'd already completed his quota of beating injured girls half to death up tonight.

Taking her gently by the shoulders, the girl's face snapped to his, and under the stars, the moon, and probably a couple dozen painfully incapacitated faunus on the floors above, their eyes truly met for the very first time.

Jaune was confused.

He expected to see distrust, the hard eyes of a girl who'd seen too much. He expected steel, coming from that of a combatant, a veteran of many battles. He expected to see mercilessness, the same cruel eyes of a bandit marauder.

He did not expect to see pure, honest confusion, and maybe a little helpless fear as well.

Her red eyes mirrored his blue in mutual bewilderment.

They both froze in that position, as both their heads thought so hard you could almost see the whirring gears.

Jaune opened his mouth to speak, but he didn't know what to say. Should he immediately press her for information? Shake her shoulders and scream, _"_ _Who do you work for?!"_ like an action hero? No, she just woke up, should he try asking nicely first, making small talk and inquiring about her day?

Without a plan, Jaune opened his mouth to speak, only to remain dead silent when she beat him to it.

The girl, without breaking her gaze, with wide, red, almost magenta eyes bereft of treachery, spoke.

"W-who are you?"

Jaune blinked. His palms began to grow cold and tingle uncontrollably again, just as a very disturbing thought began to find its way into his train of thought.

 _Surely it couldn't be…_

W-well, let's not be too hasty. It has been awhile since I hit her with my horse…

The girl tried again, lip quivering, eyebrows pleading.

"Are you my friend?"

Well, his mother always told him that friends are just strangers you hadn't met yet, right? Jaune wanted to chuckle. Ignoring the creeping cold beginning to worm up his spine, Jaune rationalized. Maybe she believed in the same saying, yeah?

 _It really couldn't be, couldn't it? That felt like something from a bad soap opera or telenovella…_

Tears began to pool in those innocent red eyes.

"Do… do you know who I am?"

 _Oh fuck me._

* * *

Councilman Matthew Riesling strode forth the crystal halls at the heart of Vale; his elegant white robes billowing as he confronted his fellow Councilman Malbec.

"Fearmonger," Riesling accused. "Demagogue," Riesling snarled. "Deceiver," Riesling sneered. "Your actions today serve no other purpose but to bully and persecute oppressed minorities. You dehumanize them, you make them lose their faith in our government and law enforcement, and you make them lose hope in Vale."

Both their eyes narrowed, and Riesling pointed a finger at his colleague's face.

" _Unless someone opposes you_ ," Riesling intoned slowly, "I would not be surprised if your own words drove our Faunus into the arms of the Fang themselves."

Malbec merely raised an eyebrow, and the corners of his mouth twitched upwards.

"Just as planned?" Malbec smiled.

Just as a snake would shed its skin, did Riesling shed off his fury and anger.

"Just as planned," Riesling mirrored his expression. "Even now, Merlot is already beginning to rally your enemies in opposition to you."

"Good girl," Malbec chuckled in response. "I heard she's even been able to secure the endorsements and support of some of my old supporters I've ostracized as well."

"You did insult them," Riesling shrugged. "Still, the zeal with which you temper your speeches is admirable. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you almost believed the drivel that came out your mouth."

Malbec sat down, chuckling all the while, "Who said I didn't?"

Riesling raised an eyebrow.

Answering the unasked question, Malbec replied, "I meant some of what I said. Remnant can't stand to fight a war against both the Grimm and the Faunus. We can't look forward while always watching our backs. Should this gambit of ours fail, Matthew, then we will truly be left with little choice but to cull and control the Faunus."

"I know," Riesling nodded his head. "Still, regardless of whichever way the wind ends up blowing, one thing is at least assured."

"Either way," Malbec rested his head on a knuckle. "Vale becomes stronger."

"All for Vale," Riesling whispered.

" _All for Vale_ ," Malbec echoed, before leaning forward. "Now, Matthew, you wouldn't risk going all the way here to compliment me. Why are you really here?"

" _She_ mentioned something interesting;" Riesling leaned forward, his voice a mere whisper, "Ozpin is pursuing certain special individuals. She claims the ones he's looking for are Ozpin's keys, his answer against any who would oppose him."

Riesling stretched an arm forward, palm upturned.

"A weapon, to surpass even the huntsmen themselves."

Malbec frowned, "Well, that's maddeningly unhelpful, and don't we all have our own _projects_ to keep his forces in check?"

"Would those be enough," Riesling questioned, "Even as they are now? Even if Ozpin does not find and sway those individuals he pines for, the huntsmen, and thus, public opinion remain on his side. The result of any conflict with Ozpin would be unfavourable to us, regardless of whoever manages to win."

Malbec furrowed his brows in contemplation, "Still, a set of individuals that could contend, nay, surpass the huntsmen? Forgive me for this, but I find this extremely hard to believe. We'd know about such things if this were the case, but for now, I believe we have more pressing concerns over chasing what sounds to be fairy tales. At present, I don't believe these individuals are worth the cost of this search."

Now it was Riesling's turn to chuckle.

"Why, my good Councilman, I've a question to ask," Riesling sunk into the chair, " _How much is a single life worth?_ "

* * *

 _"_ _Do… do you know who I am?"_

Jaune gently laid her back down, turned back, took several steps forward and tapped his speaker.

"Please tell me that isn't what I think it is, guys."

A silence so dead, he could almost hear a cricket, was his reply. The twins had gone deathly quiet, and Penny tapped a nervous tune on a table with her right and only hand.

"Umm, excuse me, sir, but…" came the thief's voice, so… _pleading_ and docile Jaune immediately felt like an asshole.

Jaune immediately stopped, turned back, and knelt again.

"Hello!" Jaune gave her the biggest, toothiest smile he could, thrusting his hand forward for a handshake.

"H-hello…" she tentatively took his hand in hers. As expected, it was strong and calloused.

They remained there, Jaune on his knees, huge grin on his face, while the girl looked at him fearfully, their connected hands shaking up and down.

And up and down.

And up and do– _Dammit, Jaune, think of something, THINK!_

He continued shaking her hand, his smile becoming strained. He needed an adult, shit, shit. He needed an adult. Immediately, his mind began going through all the adults he thought he knew.

Dad!

 _"_ _Rrraawwrr, great job, Jaune! The fish jumped in the fucking boat, all you gotta do now is smack her with the oar! Now, listen carefully, when a girl is scared, hook your arm around her shoulder, like so, then whisper in her ear…"_

Okay, no. Bad idea. Err, Junior?

 _"…_ _And that's how I 'persuaded' those gangs to find wholesome employment. Under me, of course. Remember, kid, hit hard, hit fast, know who and what your targets value the most, and don't forget to break the index fingers first."_

Adam! Adam was responsible!

 _"_ _DEATH TO HUMANITY!"_

…Penny?

Penny slithered up to his neck, the wires and the… oh, god, skin crawling up like an oiled snake, or a tentacle. He was paralyzed with fear, and she whispered in his ear the word…

" _Sen-sa-tioooonaaaaaal…"_

Jaune buried his face in his hands. Shit, he needed someone. Someone responsible _, someone legitimately mature!_ But who? Who could save him?! Was there even anyone in this building who was moderately sane!?

As if on cue, a white-cloaked figure tumbled and crashed into the thief's forgotten hospital bed a few paces away.

The hood remained stuck on her head, but Jaune could recognize those wonderful emerald eyes and scarlet strands of hair anywhere!

"Pyrene!" Jaune exclaimed, newfound hope surging into his chest.

She turned to look at him, and said newfound hope slowly dropped dead, back into the dark pits from whence it came.

"J-Jaune?" she mumbled, struggling to rise. Her face was bruised black and blue, and her weapons appear to have been damaged and even slightly bent. The blanket she wore was even more damaged, looking as if it had been pulled and ripped apart. Even the thick clothes she wore underneath looked as if they had been chewed up by a Beowolf with only one tooth.

How had that happened? He'd heard Pyr take apart entire White Fang squads on her lonesome. Who could be tough enough to do that to her?!

Jaune immediately helped her up to her feet, but as soon as he had done so, heavy footsteps emerged from the shadows on the far end of the corridor.

"Well done," Qrow Branwen declared, his eyes closed in an almost mocking confidence, clothes lightly torn up, and his sword gaining a decent addition of nicks and scratches. "I honestly didn't think you'd be able to take that."

The man planted his humongous sword into the ground, and took a swig from the flask he kept on his hip.

Both Jaune and Pyr stiffened as they saw the man approach.

Behind them, unseen, the... _amnesiac_ 's eyes widened in recognition, even as she attempted to crawl away.

After a few audible gulps, Qrow put down the drink and wiped his mouth on his knuckles. The shadows almost seemed to grow sharper as he began chuckling. Then he belched. Then he resumed chuckling.

In wordless unison, Pyr and Jaune separated, flanking the man slowly, shields in a wary middle guard, blades raised to the shoulder. Save for the appearances of their weapons, they were almost mirror images of each other.

Qrow opened his eyes, and they grew wide, his pupils shrinking into pinpricks.

Hearts pounding in their chests, the champion and the knight gripped their weapons tighter. Bound and sworn to each other across space and time, they stepped forth as one, and –

"Holy ssshit!" Qrow exclaimed, slurring a little. "I'm sheeing double here. There are _four_ of you?!"

* * *

 **Chapter 14 End.**

* * *

 **AN: Hoo boy.**


	16. Chapter 15: Leader

**AN: This has been written without a Beta, so it's extremely rough. Decided to split the chapter into two yet again. Kind of rushed, but I'm _aching_ to get to the meat of the story.**

* * *

Keppel Azure "Kaz" Miller took a deep breath, leaning before the mirror, readjusting his very familiar aviator sunglasses over his _new_ mask.

"Sir, it's time," came the muted tones of Gaston Alabaster. Kaz didn't even hear him enter the room.

Kaz straightened up. "Yeah."

This was it, their first big step.

* * *

 **Three Weeks Earlier…**

"Please, Boss!" Keppel Azure "Kaz" Miller was on his knees, "You have to lead us!"

In the immediate aftermath of the Camp Omega Rescue, the arrival of Kaz's ragtag task force back to the White Fang's central base caused well, a bit of a disturbance.

Not much of a surprise, seeing how they departed on a suicide mission with a few hundred wide-eyed fools and returned with veteran Atlesian Soldiers, members of the Schnee Dust Company's private armies, and two thousand still-wounded, dumbfounded faunus refugees.

Naturally, most of the Fang personnel in the area had immediately drawn their weapons and loaded their guns, pointing them at the Atlesians, intent on eliminating whom they believed were symbols of human oppression, had not the Omega Task Force faunus intervened.

Before the first shots could be fired, the faunus, the idealists and moderates that had volunteered for their task had stepped forward, arms outstretched protectively, forming an erstwhile shield for their newfound human comrades. The very sight of it managed to confuse and stall the Fang guards enough for Kaz and his officers to explain what was going on.

Another miracle; another bloodbath averted.

As the White Fang began the tedious, near-insurmountable task of finding a way to feed, heal, and integrate nearly two thousand faunus into their holdings in the Kingdoms. Kaz had, himself, undertaken a mission of utmost import; a mission with what was likely the fate of Remnant at stake.

The man, the scion of an ancient and noble bloodline of heroes, the peerless warrior and master tactician, the _Boss_ , who had made this all possible, Jaune Arc, had summoned him.

Resisting the urge to squeal like a gutted pig, or perhaps a schoolgirl (really, what was the difference?), Kaz had made himself presentable, and by that he meant polishing his sunglasses to an even brighter sheen, before he met with Jaune Arc in one of the many forests of Vale.

Kaz steadied himself, breathing deeply. Surely, this was when Jaune would announce his plans to command the Fang, to end this conflict between humans and faunus, and to usher in a new golden era for Remnant!

Kaz had to visibly restrain himself from giggling. He would follow to the ends of the earth, and by the looks of it, so too would his men, the Atlesians, and, hell, some of the refugees, as soon as they had recovered to some extent, _begged_ for the opportunity to serve him.

Kaz himself beheld the hungry fires burning in the eyes of the refugees, the Atlesians, and the Fangs.

He could empathize, for the same flames now roared in his heart.

Not a day had passed since they had once believed themselves powerless, unable to change their circumstances whatsoever, that their very lot in life was to live in that Camp, and die in that Camp.

Mere hours later, Jaune Arc had cheerfully, literally, and figuratively, possibly even conceptually shattered _everything,_ what they believed were their destinies, their walls and chains, their captors and oppressors, and even their despair and nightmares themselves.

Whether they were disgruntled guards, disillusioned soldiers, or despairing faunus, Jaune Arc had set their hearts ablaze; their souls burning even hotter than the smoking, crashing airship of Winter Schnee.

Yes, Kaz could empathize.

Each pair of eyes, regardless of color and race, each of them shone with a new **hope** , hungering for justice, while the… uhh, girls kind of hungered for something else in addition to that, but you get the idea.

Kaz's bootheels trod upon mud, dirt and grass before he had reached his destination.

In the midst of a clearing, Jaune stood impassive, patient, his white cloak making him look ethereal, glowing, in the pale moonlight. Gulping, Kaz strode up to his cloaked form, and spoke.

"J-Jaune, Boss! I'm here to ask for your help!" Kaz blurted out desperately, "I'm here to ask you to lead us!"

God, that sounded so much better in his head. Time for a take two.

"Boss!" Kaz spoke, voice steadier, "It's not just me, the others who accompanied us to Omega, we believe in your vision for the White Fang!"

Jaune looked up in surprise.

Taking this as a good sign, Kaz pressed on, "The Old Fang simply wanted to bridge the divide, the wall that separated faunus from humanity, while the Current White Fang simply wants to hurt everyone on the other side."

Kaz removed his glasses, and met his gaze.

"The Old Fang gives up its control over its own fate, turning it over to the humans to dictate their destiny. The White Fang tries to seize its own at the expense of the lives of others!"

Feeling kind of stupid, Kaz removed his mask this time.

"The Old Fang wanted to bridge the wall, the White Fang seeks only to hurt those on the opposite side, but you want to bring the wall down. Whatever makes faunus and human different, whatever hate or prejudices they are, you can bring them down, blow them up, and grind them to dust!"

"You've done it before," Kaz bowed his head, "You've united Atlesians and Fangs, mortal enemies, under your banner."

"We believe, that under your command, we will have victory," Kaz spoke with conviction.

"We believe, that under your command, we will have equality," Kaz's voice was becoming raw with emotion.

"We believe, that under your command, we will have peace," Kaz's voice all but pled. "Please, Jaune, lead us, and we will follow you through the gates of hell!"

 _Did I lay it on too thick?,_ Kaz's head was still bowed, he dared to look up.

Before him, Jaune stood pondering, indecisive. Kaz could see it, Jaune truly was considering the proposal, but there was something holding him back!

When Kaz laid eyes upon his white-cloaked form, he had expected change, he had expected revolution.

He did not expect an apology.

Right after the fox faunus had pledged his loyalty to the Arc Hero, Jaune slowly lowered himself to his knees, and bowed so low his forehead grazed the dirt.

"W-wha?" Kaz had stammered, "Jaune… Boss! What's going..?"

"I'm sorry," Jaune spoke, voice so depreciating it was painful for Kaz to hear.

The very words themselves froze Kaz's blood. _He was sorry? For what?_

"The truth is," Jaune spoke, sky-blue eyes honest yet hesitant, "I'm just a fake."

 _Wait, what? Fake?!_ , Kaz's sunglass-covered eyes went wide, as did his mouth.

Jaune nodded, eyes still downcast. "There were so many things that could have gone wrong during the operation, and I really consider it a miracle that it went off so well."

Kaz paused. That was to be expected... He did tell Jaune it was a suicide mission right?

"Our success doesn't change the fact though," Jaune looked him in the eye, seeming as if he wanted nothing more than to run and hide. Jaune took a deep breath, and confessed, "I'm weak."

I'm weak.

Those two words brought Kaz's train of thought into a screeching halt.

 _Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait, ho-ha, huh?,_ Kaz's mouth remained wide open as his brain struggled to reconcile fact and truth. _Weak? WEAK?_

Jaune gave him a solemn nod.

 _What the actual fuck?_ , Kaz's mouth, still wide open, was making unintelligible sounds without prompt from his brain. They had salvaged Ferrum Mors' camera footage. They had watched, huddled around campfires, footage of how Jaune Arc had blinded the Atlesian Paladin, footage of how Arc had commanded the Paladin to move with nothing but his own determination, footage of how he wrapped the Schnee Huntress around his pinky, casually playing her like a fiddle!

By the looks of it, the Schnee enjoyed it too, holy shit.

Granted, the battle damage Jaune left on the Paladin's cameras prevented them from getting full coverage of the fight, but Kaz had no doubt it was a testament to the Arc Hero's skill and fortitude.

The last piece of footage they had before the visuals went to static, was the Hero Jaune Arc, white cape fluttering behind him like the wings of an angel, dive forth, and plunge his shining sword in the eyes of a motherfucking Goliath.

And now, Jaune, the man he himself had seen command hundreds of Camp Omega's automated defenses simply by pointing his sword at them menacingly, knelt before him, prostrating himself, calling himself weak. It-it made no sense.

Kaz studied his features. They held no trace of falsehood, but held instead shame. God help him, Jaune, the man who singlehandedly drove off assassins Adam Taurus himself feared, legitimately, seriously thought himself weak.

 _Aw man, what the fuck?_

"I'm not strong enough to protect anyone, Kaz," Jaune slowly got to his feet, "I'm sorry."

Slowly, it began to dawn on Kaz what Jaune was implying, and he fell to his knees in despair.

"I'm sorry," Jaune bowed one last time, before slowly turning and walking away.

Tears began flowing unbidden from the Fox Faunus' eyes. _Of course, of course._

 _Jaune's not strong enough. No one's strong enough._

How did it only hit him now, Kaz wondered. In the entire operation, Jaune had bailed their asses out from the jaws of death so many times. They had assumed that Omega was to be stripped completely empty of troops, yet, their critical intelligence failure caused them to run into Winter Schnee herself. They'd been caught unprepared by the Grimm, and even in the end, had chosen to turn their guns onto the soldiers of Atlas instead of protect their charges.

They were weak, no, _they were beyond weak._ They were pathetic.

Without Jaune, they all would've fallen to the Paladin or to the wayward guards, assuming they even made it that far.

As Jaune's white form disappeared into the distance, Kaz drove his fist into the nearest tree.

"Grraaargh!" Kaz screamed, eyes blurry with tears. The fist came away bloody. _Of course, of course!_

Jaune wasn't strong enough _to protect them who were so weak._

How selfish did they look, asking a near-complete stranger to fight their battles and risk his life for them while they themselves essentially did nothing?! The victory they all took great pride in? That was Jaune's struggle, and Jaune's triumph; they were all simply riding on his coattails, dragging him down.

Who was he kidding? They were worse than that, they were beyond worthless.

What must Jaune Arc think of them, after he'd all but asked the man to singlehandedly win their revolution for them?

And yet… Jaune Arc _honestly considered it._

Kaz saw it in his eyes.

Kaz bit back a sob at such nobility.

This man, _this boy_ , who didn't even look eighteen, honestly considered sacrificing his life, waging war on the world for a cause he had no stake in.

He had literally considered waging war on the world, protecting the faunus, people who despised his kind. He was ready to fight to the death for strangers, with no reward to himself, only for the sole reason that it was _right_.

Kaz beat his chest. _He was a fool!_

Without thinking, he had asked Jaune Arc to fight the world for them, and Jaune had refused, not because he wouldn't, but because even he _couldn't._

Truly, Jaune Arc possessed the heart and soul of a hero.

 _But_ , Kaz drove another bloody fist into the well-abused tree, causing it to snap in twain. _So do we!_

Keppel Azure Miller clenched his bloody fists and looked up into the night sky. The shattered moon shone bright, and if he squinted, it was almost in the shape of a crescent, _of an arc._

"We'll get stronger!" Kaz swore on the moon, "We won't be some sort of burden for the Boss! No, we'll make him proud! He'll boast of us; we're going to be the best fucking army on Remnant!"

"We're going to be heroes, your hear me?!" Kaz called to the night, "We are the Flame too!"

The cold night air blew, caressing his hair and igniting the **hope** burning in his heart.

 _They were going to be Jaune Arc's right hand. His sword by which he would carve his soul into legend, and his legend into the very universe itself!_

The moon shone ever brighter.

* * *

That was little more than three weeks ago.

Miller stood before a vast multitude of several hundred humans and faunus, all of them standing at picture-perfect attention, awaiting his orders. The large cavern they were using as a base was shrouded in darkness, lit by red-gold flames, glinting off their new masks and armor.

Gaston Alabaster, calm and confident, gave him a small acknowledging nod as he ascended the steps to the small platform facing the crowd. The officers they had picked out, their soldiers, whether they were male or female, human or faunus, grizzled veteran or impetuous youth, all stood before him with courage in their hearts, **hope** in their eyes, and steel in their backs.

When Kaz had returned from his meeting with Jaune and told of what had transpired, nearly every man and woman broke into tears at the boy hero's determination. They cried at how he was ready to sacrifice himself if it meant one step towards a brighter, more peaceful future. They wept at how, even now, he strove to become stronger, faster, _harder_ , to accomplish this insurmountable task alone if he had to. How he had forsaken his innocence for power, trading his peace for a chance to deal justice! How he would stand against the world alone if he must!

… Okay, he may have embellished it a little, but the spirit of the thing was still there.

Ferrum Mors, Jaune Arc's personal battlesuit, damaged and crippled, and being repaired to the best of their ability, was proudly displayed onstage. When they believed no one was looking, people would honestly walk up to it and lay their hands on it, as if beseeching the loyal machine for even an ounce of its willpower.

In rooms hidden by trapdoors and other passages, just as Ferrum Mors was under repair; the White Lightning, the ship Jaune Arc had repurposed from a tool of oppression to a symbol of freedom, was also being repaired. In addition to the Atlesian soldiers and guards they had rescued, they had also saved quite a bunch of engineers, and researchers from that godforsaken dust mine. They were definitely pulling their weight here.

Kaz stood in front of the crowd, and all eyes, hidden behind their new masks, had faced him.

The fires from their torches and lights bathed the cave in a soft golden glow, the stalactites and crystals of the cave walls catching the radiance. In these empty holes beneath the earth, Kaz regarded them, these cloaked figures with their visored helms, and he couldn't deny the pride beginning to take root in his heart.

After he had come to everyone with Jaune Arc's reply, the first thing everyone had agreed on was to forge a new identity for themselves. They were not useless, ineffectual protesters like the Old Fang, nor were they murderous bigots playing as revolutionaries like the current White Fang. No, they were going to be something new.

They would be the heralds of a new age, _of a new dawn._

A New Fang.

Name pending, of course. No one could think of a better name.

They were a force of both humans and faunus, working together for a better tomorrow. If they wanted to let everyone know that, and the first, most obvious thing they needed to change was their image.

The Atlesian Military wore cold dust steel and boasted their technological edge to inspire confidence.

The White Fang mimicked the pale bone-white of Grimm masks to strike fear.

They New Fang, however needed to inspire **hope** , just as Jaune Arc did for them.

 **Hope**.

What image could burn **hope** in the souls of Remnant?

 _Jaune Arc stood in the night sky, armor shining in the pale moonlight, cape billowing behind him as if the wings of an angel. Though the Grimm roared and hissed, he raised his sword in defiance of the darkness._

Their answer was unanimous.

The engineers and dust specialists they had rescued practically cried tears of joy when they were given the task.

They were of the White Fang, they would not deny their sins and their glories, others were from the Atlesian Military. They were both of them and _more._

The high-tech helmets of the Atlesians, each piece containing a sophisticated mix of protective materials and communications equipment, were reverse engineered, _integrated_ to the cheap, Grimm masks of the White Fang. Striving to build a balance between functionality, protection, and cost, the craftsmen succeeded beyond expectations.

The result of which, much to everyone's satisfaction, looked incredibly familiar to the visored sallet helmets the knights of ancient history wore.

Studying Atlesian body armor prodigiously, they had attempted to replicate such protections with the mishmash of metal plates they used as the Fang. While their end result wasn't as sturdy as Atlas's, it was still loads better than what they used to have and well within their means.

While most refugees wanted nothing more than to find stable jobs and places to live in the Kingdoms, a sizable amount wanted to return and fight. With their ranks swelling, Kaz, and his newly raised group of officers had undertaken a risky gamble, and integrated each soldier, whether refugee, Fang, or Atlesian at the squad level.

While it had caused them no end of headaches, it had also opened up plenty of opportunities.

The Atlesians, formally trained, and experienced, helped beat discipline into the backs of what were once glorified thugs. The Fangs, diverse, and street-smart, taught their refugees-turned-recruits how to make use of their faunus abilities to defeat superior foes. While they had expected grumbling and dissent from the recruits, they instead were driven and determined, practically zealots, and happy to learn from the men and women that had risked their lives to save them.

It had been little more than a week since Kaz had met up with Jaune, and with each passing day, they looked less like slaves, and more of a liberating army.

Day by day, fresh food filled their once-starved bellies. Day by day, harsh training toughened their once-thin arms and legs. Day by day, each man and woman carried themselves a little straighter, a little stronger, a little more confident than yesterday.

They weren't a force Jaune Arc could be proud of yet, but looking at the assembled white-cloaked, armored, knightly figures looking at him back, well…

Kaz stood onstage, Gaston stood at his right, the officers of their fledgling army stood at their flanks.

It had taken some preparation and some deliberation, but, looking at the end-product, it definitely felt worth it.

Kaz looked to his right, and nodded.

On cue, a man and a woman, a faunus and a human, their most disciplined recruits, began solemnly marching from behind the stage towards the front.

Somehow, the wide room became even quieter when everyone realized why exactly they had been assembled here.

They each held upright a thick, long, sturdy pole of polished dust-steel. Each was nondescript, save for the outstretched wings of an eagle in flight topping off the pole, the bird's claws holding a horizontal crossbar which itself held a furled white cloth.

All eyes watched with bated breath as with a simple swing, the two soldiers unfurled the rolled-up banners hanging off the eagle's talons.

The Atlesian Military used technology to evoke confidence, and the White Fang used Grimm masks to summon fear, but in their eyes, Jaune Arc was **hope** personified.

The banners unfurled, revealing a golden stallion, prancing about a field of purest white, crowned with the twin golden crescent moons of the Arc, jutting upwards from its head protectively as if they were antlers or horns.

Where Jaune Arc's moons would look down upon the world protectively; theirs would face the sky in defiance of fate.

The first cheer had been an accident, a lapse in discipline, as one man, despite the glares of his squadmates and superior, pumped his fist in the air, shouting himself hoarse.

The next five minutes of deafening applause were intentional, and despite the ringing in his faunus ears, Kaz grinned.

 _Not a bad start._

* * *

 **Arc of the Revolution**

 **Chapter 15**

 **Leader**

* * *

Hello everyone. This is Lisa Lavender, live from the Third Bastion, the Alchemilla Hospital. Thank you for staying with us.

After an hour of fierce fighting, a task force of the Vale Police Department report that headway is finally being made against the White Fang, who, even now are currently holding the Alchemilla Hospital's patients hostage. Despite superior weaponry and tactics, the White Fang hold the Alchemilla, built to withstand siege, and have thus momentarily repulsed the storming VPD personnel.

The motives of the Fang are, at present, currently unknown. No ransoms have been demanded, nor have there been any negotiations. Some analysts believe that the Fang mean to simply cause as much chaos and damage as they can in retaliation for the injuries suffered by faunus protesters in the Faunus Civil Rights Protest held earlier this afternoon. Other analysts believe that the Fang mean to send a message directed to Councilman Malbec and his supporters for his fiery, anti-faunus rhetoric this evening.

As of now, we still have no details on the exact number of White Fang terrorists within the complex. At present, we can hear gunfire and explosions going on, and we can only hope that the Alchemilla's reinforced facilities and rooms can keep its hostages safe in the crossfire.

While there has been no official word from Beacon or any Huntsmen as of yet, reinforcements of all stripes pour in from all around Vale, further bolstering the forces assembling in the Alchemilla grounds. We have even received reports that the Vale Council themselves have their eyes on the situation. With the large amounts of combatants slowly forming up, there is little doubt that the siege will be resolved soon enough.

 **-Rush Transcripts of the Alchemilla Hostage Situation.**

* * *

"A leader is a dealer in **hope**."

 **-Napoleon Bonap-Arc**

* * *

Adam Taurus drew his blade.

His reflection shone back in the polished, red metal.

He was a man who stood at a crossroads. A logical part of his head told him that it would be better to cut his losses and abandon his Lieutenant and their men. It was over. The mission was in one of the most fortified locations in Vale, and stealth and speed were required for a reason.

Chalk it up as a failure, and move on.

It was probably better to do so anyway. Success in this mission now meant coming into conflict with Jaune Arc, who himself now commanded a small but significant number of _his men_. Success also meant rekindling the cold war between him and Cinder Fall, while he and his men were still struggling to adapt to the heightened readiness of Atlas.

Moreover, depending on whichever forces pulled the Arc's strings, he could find himself the personal priority target of Ozpin or House Arc itself, and given that the Alchemilla was in the heart of Vale, he'd be fighting in their center of power as well.

All success, all change, all power required sacrifice.

The Lieutenant and his men knew the risks, and they would not go unforgotten.

However…

Adam Taurus scoffed.

The bullhead he was on lurched, buffeted as it was, by turbulence.

As of the very moment, he and several handpicked squads of his men were en route to Vale.

No victories for the Fang would ever come easy. If he had only fought when he was certain he would win, he would've never won a single battle in his life.

He had much to lose, and yet, much to gain. Jaune Arc was isolated, and this was probably the only chance he might have to destroy that usurping monster without throwing _his_ faunus in the crossfire. They'd exhausted a lot of favors with Vale all for nothing, but suddenly they had an excellent chance to track Cinder Fall down. The Kingdoms boasted and spoke of decreasing Fang activity, and there would never be a more opportune time to strike _fear_ back into their hearts!

In the end, Adam supposed it was just his very nature to trod forward.

He was a bull. When the entire world was against him, he did not cower or hide. He _charged_.

"Sir! Oh, Adam, sir!" a panicked voice spoke in his ears.

"What's wrong? State your concerns," Adam replied back.

"S-sir, look outside, its…"

With a single, fluid motion, Adam arose from the cabin to the cockpit of the Bullhead.

There, using sharpened, night-seeing eyes humanity could never even dream of possessing, he saw a large blockade of vehicles: bullheads and trucks, and even some armored vehicles.

All of them had one thing in common.

Engraved in polished gold on each transport, on each badge, on each helmet, on each weapon, were the Laurel-wreathed, Crossed Axes of Unconquered Vale.

The crest of Vale was engraved in pure gold on each transport, and disembarking from them, were _Soldiers._

Their uniforms were simple and utilitarian, completely unadorned save for the golden crests of Vale decorating them. Their attire spoke of both uniformity and individualism, some sort of strange cross-breed between the self-expression obsessed Huntsmen and the machine-like Armies.

The message they gave was simple and concise. Each individual was powerful and unique, yet also capable of working together in a team.

They made no useless movements. Their stances were sure and straight, their faces stony, and their countenances that of warriors who had dedicated their lives to combat.

They were no run-of-the-mill Huntsman or huntsman-in-training. No, these were the personal, volunteer bodyguard of the Valean Councilmen themselves.

"T-the Concilliar Guard," the panicked voice sputtered out.

Adam snarled.

"The Council? Here?! What the hell's going on in there?!"

* * *

 _Not a bad start,_ thought Qrow, as he stretched his arms, his eyes taking in each white-cloaked figure that flanked him.

Alright, he had to admit it, he was kinda impressed. To begin with, had he not shown up, there was no doubt that the Arc would've succeeded. The concentrations of sleeping gas were at just the right levels to knock people out but not kill them, moderate casualties among the guards and police, barely any damage to the building.

It was a clean, well-executed, and simple.

Thing was, Qrow had shown up. Tough luck, kid.

Qrow had fought a lot.

He'd killed huntsmen, soldiers, mobsters, flamboyant faggots calling themselves criminal masterminds, and even a couple politicians before, though he shot those fuckers rather than slashing them. No way would he let their lard-ridden blood on his weapon.

Suffice to say, Qrow fought a lot, and he could say with every confidence that this Arc guy was pretty damn good.

The first time they met, he caught her taking that green-haired thief, probably to turn her in to the White Fang. Instead of fighting and getting his… her? Who the hell knew anymore, like, fuck, look at Ruby, hic. Hell, what was he on about again? Oh yeah.

The first time they met, the Arc had managed to conjure up some weird vision trick to lure him away from the thief. Hell, in his surprise, he actually managed to land a couple of hits to piss him off, before retreating, and next thing he knew, he was blindly chasing the Arc into a trap.

The Arc woulda most likely succeeded in ambushing him had not Qrow gotten lucky.

As soon as Qrow had circled the same exact fucking corridor again, he had spotted the Arc on his scroll, likely calling the fucking Fangs to his position to stall him. He shot the dude's scroll and moved immediately to cut off his escape.

Then the Arc surprised him again by standing his ground.

Before he knew it, the Arc had managed to fuck with his weapon, rendering it unable to mecha-shift to anything else, and did _something_ to the corridor. Then, when he was distracted, the Arc rushed him, moving almost as fast as the Ice Queen herself.

Qrow chuckled, _between Arcy boy and the Ice Queen, who would win?_

He dodged each hit with ease, having been used to Winter's speed, and with every exchange, he noticed something.

Magnets. That's how he was doing it.

He was using magnetic fields to speed himself up, and slow him down. He could use it to manuever in midair, and he could use it to make his blade heavier and his attacks lighter.

So… he opens the battle with illusions, then with magnetism.

Did he have more than one Semblance? Now that was _fuckin'_ _interesting_ , and no doubt old Ironwood and his little soul bullshit machine would like to know how that was done.

Or, his opponent could just be good. He'd known of some Vacuoan Huntsmen who made good use of Red dust to project mirages. At the same time, if the Arc was as good as he thought, then he didn't need some fancy Semblance; it would've been child's play to charge the corridor with electric dust.

He traded blows again with the Arc, even struggling against the annoying magnetism. Hell, he could even feel the Arc pushing his attacks away.

Such a shame he could break people's necks by the mere shockwave of his attacks alone though.

He never managed to land a clean hit on the bastard, but he knocked the Arc away nonetheless.

And then the Arc surprised him yet again.

When the Arc was battered away, he let out a small, almost inaudible scream.

It was a feminine scream.

Qrow was impressed. No wonder he couldn't find shit on the Arc. All this time, he had been looking for a male Arc, instead of a female one. The Arc's disguise that day in the forest had been so good he'd been convinced there was some sort of secret Arc son rather than, investigate, like, the _seven_ Arc Huntresses out there.

It all added up. The Arc Seven were known for their elemental Semblances, and there were a lot of ways to use earth, wind, and fire. Sienna Arc could feel movement on the surface she stood on with a damned good radius, Rouge was sometimes known for using intense heat to blur light, and Sapphire Arc could do weird shit with water and ice.

Fuck, two of the Sisters were Dust experts too. This could easily be one of them, faking a Semblance through mastery of Dust.

Qrow pressed forward, and lo and behold, he had been surprised yet again.

The Arc had clones.

Cloning wasn't an uncommon Semblance, though it was much more common among faunus, and … wait, _a bastard daughter of the Arcs, perhaps?_ Alexander _was_ kind of a pervert, and it would give reason as to why an Arc would support the Fang.

Still, these clones were pretty damn well made. Almost all clones had limitations in some way, others were static, others had a delay of a couple seconds, others had some stupid handicap like 'not moving', that kinda stuff. These ones, if Qrow's eyes were any indication, were _solid._

There were _four_ of… actually, wait…

Wait, something was wrong, Qrow squinted, trying to steady his vision and get a closer look.

There, before his very eyes, the four split to eight.

"Ohh, I see," Qrow remarked. It was happening again.

He waved a hand in a placating gesture, even as the Arc and his clones, all… _eight? Ten?_ Of them flinched.

"Jusssht, gimme a sshec," Qrow slurred as he ducked into a nearby hospital room.

As Qrow turned his back on them, Jaune caught Pyr's gaze, his rapidly shifting eyebrows doing the talking.

 _Do we hit him now, or like, run away?_ , Jaune mouthed.

"… What?" Pyr replied.

Qrow entered the hospital room, ignoring the half-naked unconscious woman straddling a naked unconscious man handcuffed to the bed. Heading straight for the faucet, Qrow splashed some water on his face and took a few sips from the tap.

In hindsight, maybe he shouldn't have hit up the bars tonight, but to be fair, he didn't know he was going to be fighting terrorists in a hospital.

Like, if he totally knew he was gonna be fightin' terrorist in the hospital, he woulda brought the Vacuoan stuff.

"Alright guyssh, I'm back," Qrow returned, feeling much more refreshed. True to his predictions, his eyesight cleared, and the number of Arcs in the hallway decreased to two.

The two opposing swordsme… swordswomen tensed. Like mirror images of each other, they each raised their shields forward, and readied their swords.

Qrow whistled appreciatively.

 _Not a bad start._

His vision clearing somewhat, he could spot several differences between the Arc to his left, and the Arc to his right.

Lefty over there held a round shield of burnished bronze. This one held it slightly higher than her counterpart, and her sword was lower.

The other one held a heater shield, white, with golden highlights, and… bingo, the crest of the Arcs ornamented in gold, decorating its heart.

Like, what the actual fuck, just advertise to all your enemies who you are and where you come from, why don't ya? Hell, while they were at it, why don't you carve your names into all your bullets, that way everyone knew just who you were.

Stupid millenials.

Still, these clones were definitely among the best he'd seen. Almost no lag between each other, differences in appearance, even different stances, to complement each other.

If he didn't know any better, it was like these were different people.

By some unspoken agreement, they raised their shields ever so slightly, bracing forward, strode forth, and–

Qrow plunged his sword into the floor

"Sshorry, sssorry," Qrow turned his back on them yet again. "One more sshecond, sshorry."

Two pairs of eyes went wide, as Qrow once again, ignorant of any danger, turned around and strode up to a wall. Fumbling a little, both Jaune and Pyr twitched as they heard the sound of a fly being unzipped.

 _Aw c'mon, he's taking a piss_ , Jaune, for a brief two to three seconds, frowned and averted his gaze.

That was a mistake.

In the first second, with almost unreal power, Qrow executed a back-kick on his weapon, the very blade he planted on the floor earlier.

In the second, the blade flew and crashed into Pyrene's hastily raised shield, knocking her off balance.

In the third, Qrow dashed forth, grabbed his sword before it touched the ground and slammed it on the vulnerable Pyrene's shoulder, sending her tumbling back.

By the time Jaune opened his eyes, a large, unwieldy sword was poised at his head, and he was down a partner.

Jaune didn't even have the time to feel his palms itch.

 _"_ _Now then, Arc,"_ Qrow smirked. _"_ _Who do you work for? Where is the Fall Maiden?"_

Or at least, that was what Qrow thought he had said. In actuality, it came out something like:

"Nose zhen, Arc-babycakessh," Qrow belched. "Woo you deux worth four? Wherr period horsey-gurl?"

"Come again?" the Arc raised an eyebrow.

Hah, this was what Qrow liked in a man! You point a fuckhueg sword in his face, and he takes it like a champ! Ahahah, look at that guy. He wasn't even flinching.

 _Wait._

 _Man?_

 _Damn,_ Qrow swore. He must be really drunk if his eyes kept flip-flopping back and forth like that. He hadn't gotten genders mixed up that badly since...

Qrow stilled suddenly, an otherworldly chill reverberating in his spine.

He slowly turned his head, afraid of what he would suddenly see.

In the back of his head, something long thought dead, buried after years of cynicism and drunken regret slowly awoke.

He turned and looked at the Arc.

No, definitely not a man. The Arc's hair was too silky smooth, and smelled of a feminine fragrance; green apples, if he was right. The white cloak hid most of the body's contours, edges and curves, but the jeans hugged the legs just right, and... and…

Qrow froze.

White cloak?

Nice legs?

 _Big butt?_

 _No, no, no, no, no, nonononononoo– It couldn't be!_ They'd searched for years, he and Tai had cried themselves hoarse!

But did he truly dare to **hope**?

He dropped his weapon and with shaking hands, grabbed the Arc, _no, she wasn't an Arc,_ by the shoulders.

He leaned in close, so close, he could feel her warm, _living_ breath on his lips.

His vision was blurry, and the color was wrong, but there was no mistaking the look on her _eyes_.

They were azure and cerulean now, _and they were so, so wrong_ , and it could have easily been the reflection of the moon, or the alcohol, _but Qrow knew what it was he saw_.

A sheen of _silver._

He didn't want to **hope** _and it hurt so much_ but he couldn't help it and he just–

"Sshummer?" he asked, voice small.

And then he broke her.

Qrow's grip shattered her like, _like glass_ , her form sublimating into a white, almost fine dust that shone in the light.

 _Thus kindly I scatter._

Qrow Branwen howled in anguish and fury.

In the chaos and confusion, pink and brown eyes danced from iris to iris, locked on the retreating form of a white-cloaked figure.

* * *

Jaune Arc gasped for breath as quietly as he could, several hallways away from the drunken Huntsman.

What the hell was up with that guy? As soon as the bastard had gotten close, his personality did a full freaking flip, and he'd only barely managed to squirm away while he seemed distracted by something.

Jaune tightened his grip on his weapons, trying in vain to quell the shaking.

This guy was strong, unbelievably so.

He knew Pyrene could take on squads and squads of hardened White Fang terrorists, but against him, she barely withstood two direct hits.

Such power, and even then, that scruffy bastard looked like he was holding back.

But…

A few minutes ago, up close, he could see everything in almost picture perfect detail.

He could see how the expression in his red eyes changed from amused mirth to genuine, dangerous hope. He could see each little change in his posture, from nonchalant leaning back, to forward leaning desperation.

It… it was almost pitiful.

What did the man see in Jaune that caused him to have a fucking breakdown in the heat of battle?

Jaune took a deep breath.

 _He was not the same Jaune three to four weeks ago._

He truly was grateful for his life. Despite all the difficulties he had suffered, he had met people he was honoured to call friends. Despite all the harsh realities and truths in the world, he had saw beauty and dreams worth fighting for.

 _He was not the same Jaune three to four weeks ago._

Jaune had learned empathy.

He closed his eyes, recalling the man's haunted eyes and choking voice.

This… this was honest, genuine grief.

The same sorrow of a painful wound, long-thought closed, then suddenly reopened.

Why would a disheveled, smelly, alcoholic old man lose all control at the sight of him? Why would the bastard look at him as if he were seeing a ghost; throttling him as if to reassure himself that he was real?

Jaune's eyes snapped wide open.

"Of course," Jaune gasped. How could it have been so unclear.

The dilation of his pupils, the suspicious wet stains on his clothes, the unkempt stubble, the flamboyant, daring choice of attire!

That bastard was _obviously_ a pedophile.

His heart fluttered in his chest. Oh no, his sisters warned him about this!

In the distance, he could hear quick, panicked footsteps, and desperate screaming.

"Scchummer?!, Sshummer, pleaashe!"

Jaune's jaw went agape. Slammer?! This child molester escaped jail!

Jaune's hands went to his weapons. Compared to the half-dead girl, Neopolitan, the twins had told him, the bastard was a bigger threat. Stronger by orders of magnitude, uncaring of collateral damage, and…

"Ssshummer, pleaashe! We can go back to Paatssch! W-we have cookiesssh and errythi–"

… and he was completely bugfuck insane. Jaune shuddered. The wild footsteps were drawing ever closer, and he couldn't escape him forever. Pyr was likely down and out, which meant…

Which meant he had no support this time. He was completely alone.

Biting back his panic, Jaune raked through his memories. Surely there had to be something in there about facing enemies with large swords!

* * *

"Big swords suck, they're obviously compensating for something! That said, look at my magnificent sword!" Alexander Arc put his hand under his pants and withdrew a tiny, sad-looking, flaccid dagger.

* * *

"Motherfucker!" Jaune swore, before pausing and realizing that his dad truly did fuck his mother… often, if he and his sisters were any indication.

"Schummer?!"

Jaune paled, the bastard was nearby!

* * *

Wait.

 _Wait._

 _Calm down._

Qrow Branwen steadied himself for but a few moments.

Then, quicker than the blink of an eye, he slammed a fist into the wall.

He had willed the aura around his fist away, and he could feel the pain as his knuckles cracked, breaking stone.

Almost pensively, he surveyed his slightly-bleeding fist.

 _That actually stung a little._

This was real.

No. Better safe than sorry.

This time, he slammed the fist directly into his face.

Stars and lights swam in his vision. Blood trickled down from the cut he opened on his forehead. A dull pain began to throb as his aura began to knit the damage back together.

That hurt too.

Qrow's features sharpened, and those who knew him would say that he almost looked decades younger.

"Now that's…" he muttered. "Much better."

This was real.

Summer was real… _and she was here!_

Still, Qrow hesitated once more.

But if this was real, then…

Qrow took in his surroundings. Though his vision was still blurry, even he could tell something was going on. The gas had to be dissipating by now, but all of a sudden, an unearthly teal mist rose from the floor, from the very cracks between hospital tile.

Where the surveillance cameras used to gently swivel back and forth, when he passed by, _they changed color._ Instead of swivelling back, each camera locked into him, and followed him like they were human heads!

Qrow grit his teeth.

When STRQ had been formed, he had learned then that he could never return to being alone. He shared his soul, _his life_ , with the three of them, with Tai, Raven, and Summer.

He took a step forward, and behind him, almost as if pushed by an unseen force, a discarded wheelchair fell on its side unnaturally. He pressed on, and various poles, pipes, and even surgical tools began to do the same.

When STRQ had been broken, so too, was he.

Summer, Taiyang, Raven. They were his family, and in Raven's case, literally. Everyone fought for a reason: personal glory, riches, or perhaps even the noble ideal of trying to help people and make the world a better place.

Qrow fought for none of those, fighting for no other reason than to protect and be with the people he loved.

At the edge of his hearing, he began to hear whispering. Qrow merely grit his teeth.

He didn't care if this hospital corridor was a gateway to hell itself. If Summer was in there, he was going to jam his sword up the devil's own ass if it meant getting her out.

He took another footstep, and the floor swallowed up his foot, sinking it, drawing him in like it was quicksand or wet cement.

Qrow simply took another step forward.

Hell, forget that shit, if it meant getting any information at all about Summer, or Raven, then he was jamming his own sword up _his_ ass if it was necessary.

Insects began crawling up his skin. Taking a brief glance at his fingers, a spiny, bright red centipede began to dig its way from under his index fingernail. He could feel the skin by his neck tear open as if his flesh were dry flakes, and he could feel the skittering of tiny legs as all kinds of filthy bugs began spreading through his body.

Qrow stuck his… 'ruined' index finger into his nostril, picked it, and wiped it on the nearby wall.

His finger was fine.

If whoever was doing this really thought that little bugs and Signal parlor tricks would stop him from getting to one of his comrades, then Qrow decided he would like to introduce them to his sword. Rectally.

He trod on, and came to a stop a few paces away from a certain figure.

"Ssshummer," he greeted.

The white-cloaked figure merely tilted her head.

"Ssshummer!" he tried again, hand reaching out slowly to grasp her shoulder and –

"Gah!" Qrow cried out, as his hand went straight through the white cloaked body.

Almost like a… no, exactly like a wraith, Summer strode past him as if he were mist.

"No, Ssshummer!" Qrow cried, moving to chase her, until he heard movement behind him.

Qrow turned back, hand on his sword, only to see another white-cloaked figure glide across the hallway.

Making a snap decision, Qrow abandoned the figure who had walked past him, and went for the figure behind him.

In the chaos and confusion, red, almost magenta eyes narrowed into slits. She tugged at her mint-green hair in irritation. No matter what she threw at him, she couldn't throw Ozpin's Executioner off her trail.

* * *

Qrow doubled his pace, there, every time he turned each corner, he would catch a glimpse of the edges of a cloak.

Hope and desperation fueled his advance. Summer's lithe form _flew_ forth, as if she was being pulled, farther and farther from him.

He clenched his hands into fists, his fingernails digging into his palms so hard he was actually using up aura to stop the bleeding. Summer had been taken from them, _from him_ , once, and he was going to fucking die before it happened again.

Passing through a familiar corridor, Qrow immediately turned left... right into a wall.

With a brutality mirroring that of his niece and his veritable brother, Qrow focused his aura into his front, and threw himself at the reinforced concrete walls of one of Vale's strongest forces.

Against Qrow, the walls may as well have been made of plywood.

Ignoring the pain, Qrow emerged from his impromptu shortcut and stumbled right into the path of Summer.

"Sschummer!" Qrow cried as he reached his hand out and grabbed a fistful of her cloak. This time, his fingers felt fabric. This time, he touched something real. This time, she was real. This time, he would be able to bring her back and –

The floors shook, as if the building itself was denying him his friend.

Despite the darkness, Qrow's blurry vision, and the reemerging mists, he could spot something glint dead ahead.

His eyes widened. As if being hurled by some kind of invisible giant, wheelchairs, posts, windowframes, pipes, light bulbs, hell, he spotted a kitchen sink, flew right for him, spinning and flying for him at great speeds.

 _All metal_ , he noted.

Despite this, Qrow smiled.

Surgical knives bounced off his wrists, and a fire extinguisher clocked him in the cheek. Trays, pairs of scissors, electric fans, and a fully-stocked vending machine battered his face.

And yet, Qrow smiled, because he would not let go.

'Summer' strained, trying to escape his grasp, and slowly gaining ground. Qrow merely pulled on her cloak harder.

Pulling on the cloak as if it were a tug-of-war, slowly, steadily, Qrow was bringing Summer closer and closer. The metal implements striking Qrow intensified, and Qrow actually had to duck to avoid taking a safety deposit box to the face.

His eyes were on her, and her alone. It was definitely a feminine face, no doubt about that. Strands of hair... he couldn't tell which color they were in the dark, peeked from under her hood.

The angle, the shadows of her hood, they all hid the color of her eyes, but Qrow was sure that they were as silver as the shattered moon.

This... this had to be her!

Qrow's eyes didn't leave the girl's form.

That turned out to be a mistake.

So distracted was Qrow that he failed to notice the white sword slamming on his arm until it did.

"NO!", Qrow screamed, as the cloth slid away from his fingers.

With an almost horrified gasp, the cloaked figure was pulled into the darkness, far faster than before, looking as if she was being dragged around on a hangman's noose. Her unseen brilliant green eyes wide with fear for her faithful friend.

Fury welled up within Qrow. In a maneuver even he would be hard-pressed to replicate, he spun to face his interloper, his blade crashing through the walls of the narrow corridor like they were nothing, his eyes narrowed in boiling hot rage –

Only to see the fearful, bl–no, they _had_ to be silvery, eyes of Summer. Her stance so familiar his mind came crashing to a halt, her feet steady, but unsure, her posture hunched, thrumming with nervous energy.

There was no way, just no way this couldn't be her.

His eyes, just minutes earlier blind with anger, now held nothing but unadulterated panic, as his sword, swung with all his might, came crashing down on one of the most precious people in his life.

His blade struck her on the shoulder. It was a good, clean hit, transferring the most amount of force into his foe. Summer's body was thrown aside like a piece of garbage, crashing through the wall at her back.

Qrow had never thought he would wish for weakness before.

He hadn't even felt his cold fingers as they dropped his weapon, the gargantuan blade leaving cracks on the floor.

It was a cold night, but it may as well have been _summer_ out there compared to the wintery chill in Qrow's blood.

What had he done?

His drink-addled mind jumped from image to image, each of them replaying his sword striking everyone he held dear.

His blade crashed into ...

His blade crashed into Taiyang. His bright, kind eyes widened in disbelief, even as he half-heartedly brought up his fists. Tai looked backed at him, confusion and bewilderment crossing his last moments, asking Qrow if this were some sort of practical joke, as if betrayal from him were so unthinkable that he was willing to ignore the sword buried in his chest.

His blade crashed into Yang. Raven's porcelain face and Tai's eyes stared back at him as the light slowly left them. Like father, like daughter, he supposed.

His blade crashed into Raven. Raven's eyes bore many emotions, though her face remained an empty mask. In the end, it was a matter of time, wasn't it?

His blade crashed into Ru –

 _NO._

Qrow refused to believe it.

Summer wasn't some delicate glass doll. She was a comrade, a huntress, _a heroine_!

Snapping from his shock, he rushed to her.

Summer Rose was a tough cookie. What she lacked in height, curves, and common sense she made up for with a will more unbreakable than the Kingdoms.

 _Come on, you stupid midget. Get up! Get up, get up, get up get up..._

Qrow stopped. There, before him, the cloaked figure slowly lumbered up to her feet. There was something behind her.

A single, deep, mark marred the floor leading up to her sword, plunged into the ground. Summer had plunged her sword into the ground to slow her momentum down... but why? That was out of character, why fight it instead of rolling with it and creating some distance... oh.

Behind Summer were a bed and a chair.

Even through the haze of his vision, Qrow was still seasoned enough to make out the boy on the chair and the girl on the bed. Instinct and experience automatically filled his brain out with noticed details. They shared similar features, brother and sister, girl on bed, dressed in hospital gown, an IV attached to her arm; the boy was dressed nicely, sitting on a chair, head slumped on the bed.

The boy was visiting his sick sister.

Hazy details he'd ignored came flooding back on: White Fang attack on a hospital, sleeping gas, the thief leading to the Queen, the hundreds of civilians and innocents at risk.

What... what was he doing? If he were back in STRQ, Summer would...

Summer raised the shield, still proudly proclaiming the twin moons of the Arc, and took a defensive stance in front of him. A veritable wall separating him from the children.

He'd long since accepted that it was impossible to save everyone. That if he focused on protecting those most likely to live, he'd be able to save more people in general.

He and Summer had never really agreed on that.

The edges of Qrow's mouth tilted upwards, no, even now Summer was berating him.

Whatever remaining doubts he had that this was Summer flickered away. This was Summer Rose of STRQ; of fucking course she would fight no matter how unclassed she was, if it meant she could protect people.

Even if it killed her. Even if it _did_ kill her.

The figure standing in front of him, it could be no one else but his leader.

Qrow stepped forward, almost hesitantly. He slowly raised his empty hands, bringing as much sincerity he could into the gesture, and tried to move closer.

The moment he stepped into a crossroads, an empty hospital bed crashed into his face with enough force to burrow into brick.

In other words, strong enough to actually make him stagger back.

"Gah, what the ffffuck?!"

The white blankets and the sheets of the bed fell on him like a net.

A multitude of loud footsteps broke the almost sacred silence in the halls. In but a few seconds, the familiar sound of tough, armored boots on stone halted a couple of feet from him.

Qrow had yet to remove the blankets. The sheets had gotten stuck on the gelled spikes of his hair, his necklace, and the various accessories he wore.

"Arc," a deep, rumbling voice positively dripped with malice. "I'm going to make you fucking _pay_ for what you did to my men!"

Qrow paused. He recognized that voice from somewhere...

"Brothers and Sisters! Open Fire!"

The staccato bursts of gunfire erupted from his front, from his left, from his right, everywhere save for his front where he remembered Summer was.

Each dust-infused and dust-forged round struck him, piercing his body like it were a pincushion, feeling like needles jabbed in skin despite the cushioning of his flaring aura.

Qrow grit his teeth, and taking hold of the obstructing cloth, he ripped the sheets apart, just in time to see a large, enraged faunus leap at him without regard for his own safety, weapon already mid-swing.

A large, muscular, tattooed faunus, dressed in the swallowtailed, sleeveless white cloak of the White Fang, his features covered by a full faced mask, the kind Qrow knew denoted the Fang's officers, _the Fang's Lieutenants._

He tried to dodge, but he was far too late to evade the blow cleanly. Instead of crushing his head, the faunus' chainsword struck him clean on the shoulder.

The faunus smiled, fanged teeth bared for all to see. The faunus' thumb squeezed the trigger, and the chainsword in his hand revved up to life, its razor sharp, jagged teeth thrumming with ill-concealed hate, chewing on Qrow's flesh and aura.

Biting back a snarl, Qrow's hand immediately went to his back, but instead of the grip of his sword, he found nothing but air.

His eyes widened. There, several paces behind him, was his discarded weapon. He'd dropped it when he struck Summer.

 _Summer!_

Immediately, Qrow's head snapped to the side, looking behind him for any trace of his white-cloaked friend.

 _No._

She was gone. The room was empty except for the two, still blissfully sleeping children. Again, Summer had disappeared on him, vanishing with nary a trace like a ghost or phantom...

 _Wait, no._

The deep scar on the floor from where Summer had plunged her sword to slow her fall still remained. The hole and craters from where Summer had been thrown still remained.

Summer was real, and she was out there.

A bullet struck Qrow's forehead, ricocheting off of it and leaving a pockmark in the wall.

The Lieutenant's eyes widened underneath his mask. This man was...

With a grunt, Qrow bent backwards, letting the Lieutenant's chainsword slide off. The faunus didn't let up, swinging his sword directly for him.

While the first strike had caught him off guard, Qrow dodged the second one at the last second, using the time to study his foe's weapon.

The Lieutenant roared, swinging the blade wide once more.

Qrow dodged it, and in a single move, his left hand twisted the faunus' wrist, while his right went to deliver a straight punch on his enemy's mask.

The effect was immediate.

The Lieutenant staggered back, his hands going to his face, his mask shattered to pieces.

He had let go of his weapon.

Qrow gave the chainsword a few test swings, batting away the irritating gunfire the other Fangs were pouring onto him. The weapon was crude and heavy, but effective and surprisingly durable, just like his own sword.

Bending his knees, he lunged forward, a movement so fast, even the aura-reinforced nightvision eyes of the Fang faunus couldn't keep up.

In a single swing, he had shattered the weapons of the fangs in front of him.

Had he been swinging with full force, he would've shattered their weapons, extinguished their auras, crushed their skulls, and in the case of the female faunus, stripped them of their clothes.

One brave faunus, cat variant by the looks of him, charged at Qrow with a roar, brandishing a generic blade.

Qrow squeezed the trigger on the chainsword, and with a single swing, overpowered the cat's aura and lopped his hand off.

There were only three things that mattered to him right now.

 _MONEY, BABES, ALCOHOOOOOOOL!, err..._ The mission, the civilians, and Summer.

Absentmindedly stomping on a faunus woman's face, Qrow began to connect what details he knew.

The first detail was that he'd seen Summer, or at least someone with ties to her assist the White Fang when he'd secured the Fall Maiden. The second detail was that the Arcs had seemingly outfit Summer with their precious and famous gear. The third was that something had Atlas spooked, driving the stick further up old Ironwood's ass. The fourth was that the Queen was finally making overt moves, sending one of her minions out in a bullhead.

All of those details converged on one point. This hospital.

Could Summer, the Queen, the Arcs, and the White Fang all be working together?

Qrow bent down to pick up his sword.

The Queen had plenty of resources yet unknown to Ozpin, and by extension, Qrow, but if the Arcs and the White Fang worked for her, then it would make plenty of sense. The Arcs were in excellent positions of influence in all of the four Kingdoms. Rouge Arc was in charge of security in the West. Viridian Arc was a powerful huntress in Vale. Sapphire Arc, the hot one, had plenty of political power in the East. Up north, the Arc Twins were privy to Atlesian intel.

Qrow squatted over the head of one of his defeated, barely-conscious foes, and like a piston, began striking his enemy's mask with his crotch, veritably tea-bagging his enemy in front of his comrades.

The Fangs' weapons began to shake in their hands. Nothing killed morale faster than an enemy's callous disregard for your fighting abilities.

With the Arcs covering for them, the White Fang could engage in larger terrorist operations, which undoubtedly set Ironwood off. It was standard procedure to censor information that could potentially drive the Kingdoms into a panic, and so the Fang and the Arcs set the Kingdoms scrambling for damage control.

Qrow grunted. More and more of the Fangs just kept coming.

It was the perfect smokescreen. With the Kingdoms going after the Fang, and the Arcs covering for them, the attention of the Kingdoms were more or less tied up, explaining why the Queen felt confident enough to make overt moves.

So why were the Fang, and the Arc-equipped Summer here?

The Queen had screwed up.

The Thief was apparently a vital part of the Queen's plans, to go to such extents to retrieve her... or silence her.

The only thing that mattered to Qrow now was the mission, the civilians, and Summer.

The Queen was planning for something that would throw the Kingdoms into chaos. The civilians in this very building were put at risk because of the Queen's machinations. Summer was obviously connected to this situation, but why?

Well, why was Raven doing as she was doing? For the lulz?

Qrow bashed his head right into a Fang's mask so hard it splintered and pierced the faunus' face.

Qrow made a decision.

The mission would come first. As long as he secured the Thief, they would have a lead to the Queen. If they followed the trail to the Queen, they would come across the Arc conspiracy and the White Fang soon enough.

Compared to the Thief, the civilians in this building and Summer were of secondary importance.

If they followed the Queen long enough, he'd encounter Summer and Raven eventually. If they managed to stop the Queen, they'd save more people in general.

The Fang had broken. They had begun to fall back, retreating in fireteams, one providing cover while the other moved away.

Qrow dropped the battered chainsword near its defeated owner, who was busy writhing on the ground.

The mission came first.

It was time for the Huntsman to hunt.

* * *

"... The third White Fang squad has been defeated. White Fang personnel now numbers around twenty, moving away from the swordsman," Penny spoke, her voice becoming more and more impersonal as the casualties mounted.

Jaune Arc snarled as he hid behind the nearby corner. The bastard nearly managed to catch Pyr.

"Melanie, Miltia, do you recognize him at all?" Jaune spoke into the mouthpiece.

"I...I think we've like, seen him around the Club, but like, we don't know him for certain," came one of their voices, Jaune couldn't tell, and as of the moment, he didn't care.

"So he's a member of the Vale's underworld then?" Jaune asked. It would make sense, given how the man treated collateral damage. At least the Fang _tried_ to do this stealthily by knocking out the hospital's patients.

"Maybe, or at the very least has connections to it," came the response. "Everyone in the club worth knowing keeps their distance from him. Junior would know him though, definitely, but he like, left real mad awhile ago."

Jaune took a peek by the corner, just in time to see the man break several walls in a single swing, bringing down the Fangs taking refuge behind it.

"He's not with them, and he's definitely not with us," Jaune whispered. "What could he be here for?"

"He didn't go after the thief girl when he knocked both you and this Pyrene down," spoke Melanie. "Like, I think he's after you, Jaune."

Jaune blinked. "After me? What did I – oh. _Oh._ Yeah, dumb question. So, he's some sort of bounty hunter or something?"

"More like a regular huntsman who wants your bounty, but yeah," Miltia frowned, somehow observable over the scroll. "I wouldn't put it past Atlas to hire veterans to go after who they, like, think are threats."

Jaune clenched his fists tight when he saw a small dust explosion burst in the distance. The longer this battle went, the higher civilian casualties would become.

There was silence over the comms until Miltia spoke again.

"Jaune. Run away."

"No," Jaune didn't even hesitate. He may have come here with the intentions of assisting the VPD and protecting innocents, but now? These same innocents were put at risk because of his actions. How could he turn tail and run now?

"I know what you're thinking Jaune," Miltia spoke, voice clipped and harsh. "But this man looks like a Veteran Huntsman. You can't beat him."

Jaune grit his teeth. "What if… what if I turn myself in? Will that make him stop?"

In another part of Vale, two twins would glance at each other, sea-green eyes wide, pupils shrunken to pinpricks. Aware of the price of failure, wordlessly, they each settled into their roles.

They could not allow Jaune Arc to fall.

For now, at least.

Miltia barked out a mocking laugh, "You think that'll stop him from rampaging in the building? Like, he'll still fight the Fangs."

Jaune gave pause.

Melanie went for a gentler touch, "Miltia's right, and think about your friend, Pyrene."

An undertone of worry found its way in Jaune's voice. "Pyr?!"

Miltia was quick to jump on the bandwagon, "That's right. He can't be getting out of this scot-free whoever his employer is. He'd want to silence any witnesses and loose ends, and then he could like, probably blame everything on the Fang."

"Destroying everyone in the Hospital indiscriminately would fit the White Fang's M.O," pointed out Melanie.

As expected, Jaune's eyes hardened.

"I won't let anyone hurt my friends," he declared.

The twins silently inched away from the speakers and released sighs of relief.

So… this meant that Jaune was unwilling to retreat, and unwilling to surrender, which left…

Jaune took a deep breath.

First things first… what did he have? What assets and strengths did he have? What support could he count on?

He had Pyr… who was stuck somewhere and heavily injured, and by her own admission, she couldn't lay a finger on that guy.

Was that it? Was that all the support he could count on against that guy? Surely there had to be more…

As if on cue, one of the White Fang grunts, knocked into the ground, crawled on his fours, attempting to rise. It was no use, his aura was exhausted, and blood flowed freely from a large, ugly wound in his midsection. It looked as if the bastard tried to cut him in half.

Just like before, Jaune could almost feel the poor guy's aura try to fix his injuries. Jaune could feel it, the man's will to live, the man's aura as it tried to stretch itself to close his wounds.

Jaune closed his eyes, and called forth his Semblance.

The tiny white and gold flame flickered in his right palm once more.

He looked back to the injured man. If he could sneak all the way there, lay his hand on him, connecting their auras and replenishing his, he could save him.

Except…

The bounty hunter passed through the corridor, his white coat stained with blood, some of it his, most of it wasn't. He paused to leer at the corridor, his red eyes darting to the shadows for any threats, before he continued his search.

If Jaune left from his hiding place, he would be detected and it was all over.

Was this all there was to his worthless Semblance?

A Semblance was supposed to be a wish, something meant to answer the soul's very desire.

Jaune didn't recall wishing to be a useless hack.

No… he wished to be a Hero.

He remembered the letters stored in the Arc Manor. Each letter from the people they saved. Every aged piece of paper representing another life safeguarded by his ancestors, each letter expressing their heartfelt thanks for them, how they had restored hope back in their lives.

All he wanted was to be a hero.

A hero protected the people, a hero inspired others to be heroic – a hero restored **_hope._**

There had to be something more to his Semblance than just replenishing aura on contact… There had to be some other way he could use it, but how? He needed some sort of clue…

"Friend Jaune?" Penny asked, voice clearly worried.

 _PENNY._

Aura weapons served as conduits for aura, and that was never truer in Penny's case. Her entire body, her arm... and quite possibly her nonexistent legs, all made up a single weapon and container for her aura.

And his Semblance managed to work on her.

Could he channel his Semblance through his weapon?

It was not uncommon for Huntsmen and Huntresses to do so. He knew for a fact that Glynda Goodwitch channeled her Semblance using her riding crop as a focus.

He drew his sword.

Could Crocea Mors..?

He looked at the man bleeding to death a mere couple of feet away from him.

Jaune closed his eyes.

Focusing, and _feeling_ , he found that desperate urge to live and latched onto it with everything he had. As was usual with his Semblance, he could see the way the aura flared, the flames of the soul contracting and expanding in the same tempo as a heartbeat.

Jaune raised his sword, and pointed it at the dying man.

Flaring his aura, Jaune focused everything he had onto Crocea Mors.

His aura coated the aged dust-metal in dull sheens of white and gold. Filling the sword's capacities to the brim, Jaune pushed it a little more, channeling more aura into the blade.

A spurt of white and gold, akin to a fireball shot out from the tip.

It needed pressure.

More aura then.

Jaune channeled twice the amount of aura until the white and gold flames shot out like a stream.

Jaune immediately tried to correct his aim, but it turned out there was no need for it. The streak of flame bent inexplicably in mid-air, almost as if it were reaching out… or pulled towards the dying man's own stretching aura.

Both souls latched together, and a familiar drumbeat resounded in Jaune's ears.

There were four, two indistinct heartbeats.

As was becoming second nature to him, Jaune focused, and tried to match his beat to his.

He'd had his Semblance for little more than a month now, and while plenty of things were still unknown to him, he'd had his own theories regarding his power.

This synchronizing of heartbeats was for compatibility, he believed.

Every person's aura was different. Each aura glowed in different colors. Each aura took different shapes and patterns, while his burned and throbbed like a fire, other people's auras were said to swirl and twist, or even remain constant, near-solid shapes. Hell, his Sisters Viridian and Viola said that each aura smelled differently as well.

His aura apparently smelled of Sunflowers.

… Weren't they scentless, though?

Ooh, also, apparently one of his sisters' auras smelled like jasmine too.

He opened his eyes.

As expected, just as the heartbeats began to synchronize, the aura streaming out of his sword began to change color into blue, adapting and joining to the dying man's reserves.

The flesh by the man's midsection began to sew itself up, as the man himself let out a gasp and opened his eyes.

Unseen, Jaune leaned against the shadows of the wall.

The newly recovered Fang seemed to regard his wounds with wide eyes, clenching and unclenching his hands, and pawing over his abdomen. Satisfied, he picked up his weapon, and rejoined his brothers and sisters in battle.

Jaune felt his heart race.

He clenched his fist and summoned the golden flame.

He'd only used a tiny sliver of his aura reserves, and he'd nearly topped that man to full.

No, no, it wasn't that. He'd replenished the man's aura to a point that it would be able to replenish itself. Contemporary studies on the nature of aura mentioned that aura grew stronger based on psyche and morale, _on emotions_.

Recovering from the jaws of death seemed like one hell of a second wind, then.

Jaune grinned.

He could _heal_ at range.

All this time, the entire time he'd spent groping the Twins, Kaz, and Penny to inject them with his aura, when he could've accomplished the same with his sword. Sure, it had taken him longer than if he had established contact, but he could practice and –

"Friend Jaune?" a meek voice called in his ear.

"Yes, Penny?"

"Y-you've been quiet for a while," she asked. "Are you alright?"

Jaune chuckled over the comms, his levity out of place amongst the bloodcurdling screams and sounds of battle.

"Never better," Jaune couldn't keep the smile out of his voice. "But, if you're alright with it, I got a favour to ask you, Penny."

"Y-yes, I mean, what can I do for you?"

"Stream the camera feeds of the hospital into my scroll," Jaune's smile grew ever wider. "And get me in contact with the White Fang communications channel."

"Jaune?" Miltia's voice was laced with worry and bewilderment. "L-like, what are you planning to do?"

"Oh, don't worry, Miltia. It's nothing too big, and save some of that Mistralian take out for me. I'll be home shortly."

"…You're serious. You're absolutely serious…"

"Eeeyup," Jaune smiled cheerfully, raising his weapon.

"I've got a Huntsman to hunt."

* * *

Pink and brown eyes danced with amusement as they beheld the chaos of battle.

Wrapping herself in mirrors and light, seamlessly becoming one with discord itself, Neopolitan drew her weapon.

* * *

The champion moved quickly, her hand caressing all the metal she could find, twisting their shapes until they suited her purposes.

Brilliant green eyes snapped back into the heat of battle. Pyrrha Nikos readied her weapon.

* * *

The Lieutenant forced himself back to his feet, blood dripping down his face from where his mask had shattered.

His body begged for rest.

How could he rest when his brethren, his kin, his brothers and sisters were being slaughtered out there? With a snarl, the Lieutenant picked up his weapon.

* * *

The Thief cursed her luck. She could not escape, not without running into the concentrated forces of the White Fang, or Qrow Branwen himself.

The Thief had always cursed her luck, but it seemed fate had thrown her a bone.

Stripping off the hospital gown, she strapped on the familiar leathers of her outfit.

Twirling one of them in her hands, Emerald Sustrai raised her weapons.

* * *

 **Chapter 15 End.**


	17. Chapter 16: Linkage

**AN1: After 30,000 agonizing words, three rewrites (this is the third), and a lot of beer, I am finally,** _ **finally**_ **done with this Chapter. Beta/Pre-Reader/Guy-who-tells-me-if-I-go-too-far should finally be free to edit my bullshit again. May the beer gods look kindly upon him. Still, I'm gambling on something here, so hopefully it's good.**

 **AN2: I started reading Worm (Worm Fanfics to be precise) and it sounds kinda fun. Never shoulda started.**

 **AN3: Damn it RT, we need more named characters.**

* * *

Yang Xiao Long yawned.

With a final stretch of her arms, she rose from the family dining table, padding towards the sink.

Rubes was asleep. Dad had stepped out for a short moment to take a call from Ozpin. The woods of Patch were quiet, but not too quiet, indicating no significant Grimm presence.

The shattered moon looked brighter than usual, though.

By all accounts, it seemed like the perfect end to a perfectly good day. She'd had her hair and nails done, she'd found some pretty high quality dust ammo right in time for Initiation, and Rubes had stopped some criminal jackass and nabbed herself a spot in Beacon.

Yes, all was well.

With a careless shrug, she washed her mug, and opened a cabinet, intent on depositing it with the others.

Yang stopped.

One of the family mugs was cracked.

Carefully, she took the broken cup in her hands. The mug wasn't exactly anything expensive, and bore no design. Though simple, the mug was sturdy and colorful enough; its ceramics colored red on the inner part and white on the outer.

Yang frowned. She hadn't seen this one in a while... This was Uncle Qrow's mug.

A chill began to creep up Yang's spine. She'd never subscribed to such dumb superstitions, but for some reason, this... this scared her.

As if on cue, a picture frame fell of its perch behind her.

She turned, and with shaking fingers, beheld the shattered glass of the picture frame.

The glass was almost pristine, if not for the menacing crack across Uncle Qrow's face.

Yang grew nervous. The day's weariness forgotten, she began pacing through the house, rifling through Uncle Qrow's belongings.

She opened up the cabinet where Dad liked to keep his alcohol. She went through the bottles and cans of drinks, looking for one specific, indescript bottle. Uncle Qrow tended to mix his own drinks with local ingredients, and by local, she meant Beer, Vodka, leftover fish soup, Red Dust, and these weird mushrooms that grew by the cave a short walk from home.

Her fingers began to sting, and she realized what had happened.

Shining a light in the cabinet, she found the broken bottle fragments of Uncle Qrow's drink, the concoction he called the Cockcrow, its contents leaking out and melting holes in the wood.

Before she could process what had happened, her scroll had vibrated. Fishing it out from her pocket, she received a notification informing her of corrupted data within the scroll's internal memory. Dreading what she would find, Yang went through each file (multiple?!) that had been corrupted.

The scroll nearly fell out of her hands.

There, displayed on the screen, were all the pictures she had of Uncle Qrow, the pixels making up his face blurred out.

The skittering sounds of insects caught Yang's attention next. There, by the corner of her eye, she could spot a line of all sorts of bugs, centipedes, cockroaches, ants, and spiders, all marching as if possessed in one direction. Slowly, she followed them, and they led her to one of the cabinets in the guest bedroom. The same guest bedroom Uncle Qrow liked to sleep in.

Her heart pounding like a cannon, she opened the drawers.

She didn't bother stifling her gasp. Swarms and swarms of insects tossed and turned like the dark waves of a murky sea as they continued consuming Uncle Qrow's socks, and shirts, and pants. Mandibles crunched, tearing apart the fabric, Centipedes centipeded, and the spiders began picking off easy food at their leisure. For some strange reason, the insects left Uncle Qrow's underwear alone though.

Yang stumbled back, leaning on a wall for support.

Surely, these were just a series of crazy coincidences right? Uncle Qrow was one of the greatest Huntsmen Yang knew. Sure he disappeared for months on end, but he should be fine, right?

As if the universe were answering her query, the couch Uncle Qrow liked to nap on spontaneously caught on fire. She knew it was greasy and oily and they never had it cleaned but hot damn.

Yang had to restrain herself from pulling at her awesome hair.

"OH COME ON!"

* * *

Qrow Branwen's eyes opened, gazing at the shattered moon.

He blinked, his vision swimming betwixt wakefulness and slumber, between blur and clarity. Things were strange. He awoke, yet the way the room spun and his head stung felt different from his usual morning hangover.

His world continued to spin, yet the moon remained a clear constant. It took a few minutes staring at it before he realized he was looking at it through a window.

One by one, feeling came back to his limbs. He was propped up against a wall, and his pants were sticky, wet with some sort of cloying sludge Qrow desperately hoped wasn't what he thought it was. Qrow closed his eyes, focusing on the feel of strength returning to cold arms and legs, before he realized something was wrong.

Nerves fired, but as much as Qrow willed it, his arms and legs refused to answer.

Struggling to tear his eyes away from the mocking moon, Qrow moved his stiff neck and looked at himself.

"Ah," he chuckled. "Explains a lot."

It wasn't that his arms and legs refused to move, it was that they couldn't.

He raised his hand to eye level. The back of his hand looked mangled, like it had blown up. He tried to move the other hand, and the familiar sting of bullets twisting in his shoulder gently informed him he'd been shot, repeatedly.

He tried to stand, and though his legs twitched, he couldn't put enough strength into them.

On the bright side, at least that meant he didn't shit himself. No, the wetness in his legs was just blood, probably his for a change. Crisis averted, bullet dodged, whoo. A tentative glance at his surroundings revealed that the hallway was filled with faunus bodies, some barely breathing, others deathly still.

Qrow let out a bitter chuckle. That explained things.

He clenched and unclenched his remaining usable hand. He had to keep himself awake now. Yeah, he could take this, already his aura had begun to weave his flesh back together, albeit irritatingly slowly. He'd had worse, and this wasn't as bad as the time he'd been caught cheating on a Veteran Huntress with her mother.

Making himself comfortable, Qrow leaned his head against the cool concrete of the wall, and took a deep breath.

He'd been fighting all his life, and despite his injuries, he couldn't shake the sinking feeling that this was all going to get worse before it got better.

He closed his eyes, spreading his senses, reaching out at the very depths of his perception. He was all alone. The Fangs were gone, the tracks they had left cooling rapidly. The gas was beginning to subside, and he could hear the makings of moaning and stirring among the hospital's sleeping denizens. Interestingly, there were barely any casualties among the hospital personnel and its patients.

Qrow paused. There, to his right, he could hear armored boots, moving exceptionally quiet despite their duststeel make, and there was more than one pair approaching his position.

"Qrow Branwen?" deep bass tones spoke. "What the hell happened to you?"

Qrow's eyes opened, turning to the speaker and the soldiers flanking him at the sides. While there were some differences in their harnesses and rigs, they each wore dull painted armor over practical, simple, _understated_ uniforms.

That, and the simple, blank, full-face masks. Couldn't forget those.

Qrow narrowed his eyes. Despite the paint and the seeming simplicity of their outfits, his eyes could discern their quality. The dust-steel was some of the finest he'd seen, and he could sense the dust infused in the weaves of protective synthetic material.

The soldiers stepped closer, into the light, and Qrow could see the gold badges on their helmets.

The Conciliar Guard.

In particular, Qrow could spot the large, bear of a man with the auburn mane approach. His alterations to his uniform were subtle, but there was a simple crest of a large bird with outstretched wings on his pauldrons.

"Winchester," Qrow muttered.

"Asshole," Kestrel Winchester of the Conciliar Guard replied.

"Dick."

"Pedophile."

" _That was one time!"_ Qrow sputtered. "She told me she was eighteen!"

Kestrel Winchester chuckled as he crouched to his fallen friend, his men immediately taking defensive positions around himself and Qrow.

Kestrel looked at Qrow, the small smile on his face slowly disappearing as he took stock of his wounds.

"Shit, man. What happened to you?"

* * *

 **Arc of the Revolution**

 **Chapter 16**

 **Linkage**

* * *

Men are not equal.

Some would say that we are equal in our inequalities. Some men are born swifter of foot, others are born stronger of arm, and others are born sharper of mind. Yes, some would say that through our inequalities, we are all equal; that through our ideals of self-expression and individualism, we are all equal.

Those who say so? I would have them shot.

Men are not equal. Some are born strong, and others may be born feeble and weak, what cruel mockery of equality would that be? We have worthy, noble people born in the dregs of poverty, while we have human scum born into families so rich they would never experience working a single day in their lives. Some may even be born faunus, who honestly speaking, possess natural qualities and traits superior to humans, yet are repressed and crushed by the cruel whims of fate.

Why are men not equal? The answer has always ever been power.

Democracies have always been composed of checks and balances to ensure power was distributed equally, enforced with a government monopoly on violence, but with the existence of the Huntsmen, such systems are rapidly growing obsolete.

The Strong Man has power, whether it be in the form of money, force, or intelligence, and through it, can find opportunities for pleasure and success more than Poor Men could ever hope to have. In turn, the Poor Men possess political power, and numbers, and as such, keep the Rich Man in check.

Huntsmen? Huntsmen on the other hand, cannot be checked.

To supply the ever-growing demand for Huntsman, society panders to them and obeys their every whim. We give them fame, we give them wealth, we give them our undying adulation, and in doing so, we have created our own monsters.

How would a Man fight a Huntsman? In a contest of arms? Look at the Soldiery of Atlas, look at the Warriors of the White Fang, look at the Officers of the VPD, and look at how Huntsmen can slaughter them by the hundreds. In the courts of law? Huntsmen themselves are seen at the very least as celebrities, and at the very best, heroes keeping humanity alive.

They cannot be stopped. A regular Man is not equal to a Huntsman, they are simply far too powerful, and at the same time, far too valuable.

It is no exaggeration to say that the lives of hundreds, nay, thousands are in the hands of each Huntsman. Should a Huntsman decide to rampage throughout Vale, thousands will die. Should the Kingdoms manage to neutralize the Huntsmen, the Grimm come and thousands die. Should a Huntsman refuse to fight the Grimm, thousands will die. Should a Huntsman even do something disturbing, the people panic, the Grimm come, and thousands will still die.

The Kingdoms live and die according to the 'individualistic' whims of the Huntsmen.

Who protects the weak from the men who protect the weak?

Who Hunts the Huntsmen?

 **Councilman Mark Malbec,** _ **I'm Not Being Paid Enough For This Job:**_ **Introduction**

* * *

I'm not _exactly_ saying he is some legendary double god uber-king. I'm just saying that, since, you know, he carries a flaming white sword of righteousness, brings back people from the cusp of death, and explodes Grimm by looking at them funny, we might as well keep our options open, right? _Right?_

 **Laurel Carnelian,** _ **Lectitio Divinitatus**_ **: Chapter 1**

* * *

 **Earlier...**

Laurel Carnelian looked at the light.

The light looked back.

Laurel frowned. Where was she? She could barely move her neck, and she could only barely feel her arms and legs. The light in front of her was just so bright that she could barely make out the details of the rest of the room. How did she get here? The last thing she knew was joining Adam Taurus's Lieutenant on a mission to –

Her carnelian eyes widened in shock as a rapid succession of images hammered themselves in her brain.

The Arc. The Emerald Thief. The Scythe of Ozpin.

She looked back at the light, the warm burning of tears stinging her eyes, as she finally understood what was going on.

She was dead.

"Dying," the light corrected.

Laurel laughed. Laurel Carnelian laughed a hollow, bitter laugh. So this was how it was going to be? This was how she would go? Her body shattered by some incoherent, drunk Huntsman, who probably wouldn't even lose any sleep, let alone remember the last moments of her existence?

It was just... so fucking unfair.

The light seemed to pause, before replying, "It is, isn't it?"

She continued to laugh with a face full of tears.

Of course it was unfair, what did she expect?

Laurel Carnelian had been born into a faunus family in a small farming settlement northeast of Vale. They were a family of six, her father, her mother, her sister, and her two brothers. Life in the village was... difficult, they each had to get up early and work, only to receive less from the settlement's human owners. Being one of the place's only faunus, Laurel and her siblings had grown up friendless, victims to bullying, while her parents themselves felt the brunt of the village's suspicion and discrimination.

Yet, for every bruise, for every thrown stone, she and her brothers and her sisters and her father and her mother would each sit by the dinner table. Wounds would scab over, dirt would wash away, torn clothes would be mended, and each of them would wear wide grins as they took mouthfuls of mom's hot stew.

Nothing mattered outside the four corners of her house. Whatever the world could hold, as long as she had them, she was happy.

And then the Grimm came.

The resident Huntsmen were quickly overwhelmed by the packs of Beowolves and Ursae. The richer families evacuated through hired Bullheads, while the less well-to-do had to escape on vehicles and carts. Her family, along with the poorer residents of the settlement had to escape on foot.

It was there, by the road to Vale that she had lost her parents.

It was a sudden attack in the dead of night. The lookouts they had posted weren't able to see anything until it was far too late. The last memories she'd had of her father was of him taking a torch and running off into the darkness to peel off the chasing Grimm from their trail. The last memory she'd had of her mother was her begging one of the family's few friends to get her children safely to Vale, before succumbing to some sort of disease. The last memory she'd had of mother was her kindly face, the smell of decay, the sight of pus, and the rotting of flesh.

It wasn't fair.

The light stood impassive. Standing over her like a Knight would in a last vigil.

They had almost starved when they reached Vale.

They were frontier children in the big city, with no money and no contacts, they'd had to make do with whatever food they could scrounge out. Laurel was the eldest and toughest among the siblings; it merely meant she could watch her youngest sister die, even after she gave up her portion of their food for her.

 _It wasn't fair._

They would have starved, had not the White, or perhaps she should say, Old Fang appeared.

The Fang had taken them in, treated their wounds, fed, bathed, and clothed them. Laurel Carnelian and her brothers had taken to its message wholeheartedly, and without a second thought, joined their rallies and protests. She remembered how she felt during those days. They felt they could change the world; they felt they could save everyone and make everything well again. Things were difficult, supplies were always scarce, and there seemed to be no end of people who needed help, but, surrounded by men and women she would gladly call family, she was happy.

One of her brothers died after the police put down one of their demonstrations.

 _It wasn't fair!_

It was a simple lapse in judgment. One of the cops thought he was holding a gun.

Months later, she and her new brothers and sisters really were holding guns this time.

The bowls of mother's hot soup were gone. The stupid jokes dad used to tell were gone. The blind faith her sister held in Vale was gone. The naive optimism her brother had for peace and equality was gone.

Had someone told her a decade ago that she would fight and spill blood in the name of peace, she would've laughed at them. Day by day, battle by battle, she and her brothers and sisters in arms fought. Day by day, fewer brothers and sisters in arms came back. Day by day, they killed and were killed, and their dreams of peace remained ever-distant.

And that was it. Everything she had experienced, everything she had done, and everything she could have done, all ended in a simple careless swing of Qrow Branwen's weapon.

"It's not fair," Laurel had felt her lips move.

She'd had enough of this.

She'd tried.

The light stopped, pausing, before it drew closer yet again.

Laurel shut her eyes, letting the light envelop her.

...

...

Okay, now what?

Slowly, she opened her eyes, only to see the light itself sitting next to her, both their backs propped against the hospital wall.

"You're right. It's not fair," the light spoke. "Life's not fair."

Laurel stared at the light, mouth agape. "Seriously? Like, seriously? That's it, life's not fair?"

The light almost seemed to hunch over, defeated. "What did you expect me to say?"

"Something, I don't know. Something about how everything was fated, or had some purpose to play in your grand plan?" Laurel mused. "Or was this all for nothing?"

The light remained silent, and they both stared at the shattered moon.

"Say," Laurel asked. "What happens when I die?"

"I... I don't know."

"You know, you don't seem to be very good at what you do."

"Finally, someone notices," the light scoffed.

Laurel paused. "Will I see everyone again?"

"No idea," the light turned to her. "But I do know that you can definitely go see Lucian again."

She froze at the name of her lone, surviving little brother. Like her, everyone had left him, would she too, do the same?

"I need you to get up and fight now." The light rose to its feet.

Laurel hugged her knees closer to her.

"What's the point?" She asked. "Are we here just to suffer? I, no, we fought and fought, and nothing ever changed. The Faunus Revolution, the protests we made, and all the battles we fought, nothing ever happened."

"You're right. Still," the light spoke. "I want you to get back up and try again anyway."

The light reached out, and carnelian eyes stared at its right hand.

"Someone said that stupidity was doing the same thing over and over again, expecting different results," the Light spoke. "I can't guarantee that anything will change even if we fight again. I can't even say that it'll even be worth anything in the end, but..."

The light looked her in the eye.

"I just don't believe it," the light chuckled out. "Deep down, I think we still have a shot at it. I believe that little by little, we're changing things. I believe that little by little, things are changing for the better, that we're better than how we were yesterday, that today, we're less ignorant and more curious, that today we're less afraid and more... well, _good."_

'More Good' didn't exactly sound like the most inspiring of messages, but… she met its gaze, and for a brief moment, she could see the sky.

"If you believe, deep inside, that we even have the slightest, tiniest, _stupidest_ chance of success, that we might one day be happy, take my hand."

The hand was upturned right in front of her. With a shaking hand, she reached forth –

"Oh," the light seemed to grin. "And in case that's not enough, I even got a couple of tricks up my sleeves."

She took the hand and closed her eyes shut.

"… Do you promise?" she asked.

"Promise what?"

"That you'll help us?"

The light seemed to pause, before chuckling, "Yeah, I promise."

Warmth returned to her cold blood. A two beat cadence, not dissimilar from a heartbeat, began pounding in what were just deafened ears. Laurel Carnelian breathed, and she could smell sunflowers.

When she opened her eyes, she saw eyes the color of the peaceful sky, hair the color of golden wheat, and a cloak as white as the shattered moon behind him.

"Hello Laurel," he smiled. "I'm Jaune."

* * *

Qrow Branwen hefted his blade up to his shoulder and he stepped back, admiring his handiwork.

Strewn in mangled heaps were the _maybe, hopefully_ still breathing bodies of his White Fang adversaries. Blood, almost black in the lighting dripped onto the cold linoleum floors of the aged building. Broken weapons and empty bullet casings littered the ground, right next to the shattered material of their masks. Their pained moans the only sound echoing through these halls.

Qrow stood still, taking a moment to catch his breath and take a swig from his flask. As he was savoring the harsh burn of his own personal mix, he let his senses stretch out, his finely-tuned feet catching every minute vibration around him, his ears hungering for sound.

He stiffened when he found yet another squad of faunus combatants moving around near him. How many of them were there tonight?

Groaning, Qrow turned the corner and took maybe five measly, leisurely, quiet steps forward, cutting the faunus off with the least amount of effort possible.

As expected, his enemies jumped back, startled. His sudden appearance would only shock them for around a second.

A second was all he needed, really.

Qrow's first move was to stretch his neck, cracking the vertebrae and relieving him somewhat.

As if in slow motion, his enemies were only beginning to shout and reach for their weapons. There were five of them, three had their weapons in a gun configuration, the other two had swords.

Qrow's second move was to take two steps forward.

The three faunus began training their rifles at him, their fingers pulling the triggers. The two swordsmen began lifting their swords in preparation for their attacks.

Qrow's third move was to strike.

With a single wide sweep, all five faunus, some of the finest soldiers of the Fang, fell to the ground. The plates under their vests cracked, along with their ribs. One of them was in critical condition, the other four were probably fine, hopefully.

Qrow sighed. This was a really fucking long night. Still, it looked like Summer Rose was gone, and the White Fang were finally defeated like the cockroaches they were.

Still, what the fuck was taking the VPD this long? Was something distracting them outside?

Qrow's hands reached for his flask, before something pinged on his senses, and he sighed. More Fangs, almost exactly where he had just come from. Couldn't they cut him a fucking break?

Qrow rested his blade on his shoulder, and began moving back, before, without warning, he stiffened.

He detected around seven pairs of footsteps enter quickly. There was some shuffling around, and then those seven footsteps also dispersed, though less quick this time. Like rats, they scurried off into separate corridors, and though he could probably catch two groups if he hustled, he'd lose the other half.

He paused for a brief moment, but before he could lunge forth, more footsteps entered the radius of his perception.

Three pairs of footsteps dashed to where he left the five faunus he'd just defeated.

His curiousity piqued. He stayed behind and listened, and just as he'd thought, those footsteps scurried in separate directions, same as before.

Blinking, he stepped forward to where he defeated his most recent foes, and took stock of what he saw.

In that specific corridor, exactly a minute and thirty-six seconds ago, he had neutralized five faunus warriors of the White Fang, but when he finally got there, only two unmoving bodies remained.

Qrow blinked, and something bright and green flickered in the corner of his eye.

Whipping around, Qrow came face to face with a completely generic hospital security camera. A tiny green light pinged on and off on its body.

"Huh," Qrow muttered.

* * *

"Huh," the White Swordsman muttered, staring dumbly at the screen.

Jaune Arc checked his scroll. The scroll's screen had been split into six different, smaller displays, each of them streaming camera feeds of the White Swordsman, and nearby points of interest.

Jaune pressed a button in his earpiece, and switched to a private, more secure channel.

"Think he's onto us?" Jaune whispered.

"His facial expressions do not indicate heavy suspicion; I believe we may still proceed, Friend Jaune," came the still-cheerful though somewhat muted tones of Penny.

"If you say so," Jaune pressed another button, and switched comms channels again. Flicking his eyes to the camera feed and the top-right corner of his scroll, Jaune held his breath.

As if on cue, a blonde faunus girl around his age entered the screen, one of her White Fang comrades lying prone on her shoulder in a sloppy fireman's carry.

"Laurie," Jaune whispered in the gentlest tones he could manage.

The blonde dog faunus girl, Laurel Carnelian nearly jumped, before settling down, looking around herself wildly.

"Jaune?" her voice was small.

"Laurie," Jaune whispered again, trying to project his best reassuring smile over the scroll. "That's far enough, I can take it from here. I need you to assemble with the others now."

At his words, Laurel slowly dropped her wounded comrade down, then proceeded to scurry off. Jaune counted to ten, and very slowly, emerged from the locker he was hiding in.

"Does my new patient have a mask on?" Jaune whispered, as he quickly began moving.

"Like, no," came the voice of Miltiades Malachite. "Penny's doing her facial recognition thing. Give her a minute."

A high-pitched ping rang from his earpiece, and Penny spoke up. "Aldrich Adler, his name is Aldrich Adler!"

"I see him," Jaune nodded. "Appeal to logic or emotion, coerce, bandwagon him, shock and awe, or do I just heal him and command him from afar?"

"His social media history indicates that he's a middle-aged man, late 30's," Penny recited. "Wife died three months ago to disease. While he has a job as a dockworker, his two sons and daughter are under care of the Valean White Fang. Thus far, his relationship with his family appears to be satisfactory. As usual, possesses anti-establishment leanings, though he does not especially discriminate against humans. He appears to have at least graduated from high school, and is presently trying to beat his smoking addiction by chewing gum."

Jaune's hands immediately went to his pockets, and he withdrew a small pack of gum. "Nice. Family man, eh, any dreams and aspirations for the future?"

"I know him," Miltia spoke. "A couple of Junior's other girls in his smaller clubs and bars know his eldest son. Like, apparently the guy wants to put up his own restaurant someday."

Jaune crouched over the man's... over Aldrich's body, and pointed his scroll camera on him. "Right. So he's got family ties, responsibility, and a dream someday. Presentation?"

Melanie Malachite hemmed and hawed. "Weathered face and calloused hands. Wrinkles all over, graying, balding head, plain features and stocky body. Be down to earth and friendly. No big words. He's a self-made man or considers himself to be, so remain confident but not confrontational. Penny, how old are his boys?"

Immediately, two pictures of guys around Jaune's age popped up on his screen. "One of them is 17, and the other 14, Friend Melanie."

"Jaune, slick your hair back like his eldest, and try to copy his smile," spoke Melanie. "Keep your legs, like, a little closer together, and hunch over just a bi... _there_ , okay, now make sure the light illuminates your face."

Jaune complied. "We all set?"

"Yeah."

"Mmmhmm."

"I've opened everything I have on him, friend Jaune!"

"Alright, then." Jaune closed his eyes.

Slowly, he began to flare his aura, or perhaps 'flare' was too strong a word. White-gold light began to slowly and steadily glow from Jaune's body, and Jaune slowly moved his hand to his blade. Stretching out his consciousness, he reached forth and touched the faunus man's aura. Feeling, _tasting_ , the foreign aura's vastly different history, composition, design and properties, and internalizing them into his.

If Jaune were to describe it, it would be akin to trying to fool himself that he was someone else.

Slowly, the golden tips of Jaune's aura began changing to the deep brown colors of a different aura, the aura of the wounded man at his feet. The analysis had taken almost two seconds to complete, and Jaune paused. Akin to checking the compatibilities of blood types, Jaune checked whether or not their auras were compatible now.

With a sharp breath, Jaune slowly drew his sword.

* * *

Qrow Branwen's grip on his blade tightened.

It was as he suspected.

Qrow Branwen circled back to the general vicinities where he had clashed with large numbers of the White Fang, and his suspicions were proven right.

The bodies, most of them at least, were gone.

He laid a hand on his temple. No, he wasn't tripping. Like Summer Rose, this was no apparition, bullet casings, pockmarks, and swordmarks still marred his surroundings. Congealed blood stained the floors, framing empty spaces were bodies should be. Qrow stepped forward, and surveyed the bodies left behind. They were all unquestionably and irrevocably dead, or injured in ways that wouldn't heal naturally.

His eyes narrowed. He'd tried to leave as many alive as possible for questioning, and the Fang knew it. Were they silencing their own men before they could be interrogated?

Qrow was about to reach for his flask before all his senses suddenly came alive.

All around him, near the very edge of his hearing and touch, at the very edge of his perception, Qrow realized he was surrounded.

Qrow chuckled. Of course he would. In a place this dark, with every little noise echoing in the walls and corridors, his aura-augmented senses were still inferior to faunus nightvision and faunus hearing. They weren't running around like headless chickens anymore, rather, they skulked in the dark, near the edge of his range, eyes wide and pupils dilated, watching his every move.

Qrow grunted, then started moving right.

Near the edges of his perception, the faunus to his right kept their distance, moving right as well. So too followed did the Fangs to his left and back and front.

 _Well, if that was how they wanted to play it..._ Qrow positioned himself in one of the biggest bottlenecks in the Hospital. Placing himself in between three-fourths of them and the exit. If they wanted to wait, then he could wait. It honestly wasn't a concern.

His opponents seemed to realize it too, because as soon as he stopped walking, they started approaching. Like a closing fist, the Fangs started swarming him from all directions. Unlike a while ago, they weren't separated into tiny groups, no. They weren't trickling in either like idiots. This time, they were massing up, and Qrow counted around fifty homing in on his location.

Qrow once more surveyed his surroundings. He'd led them to one of the emptiest places in the hospital, and he himself stood in a large waiting room. Here, he could cut loose without needing to worry about toppling a ceiling down on sleeping noncombatants. Here, there was a decent amount of light, such that their faunus nightvision wouldn't grant them too much of an advantage over Qrowvision. Here, Qrow Branwen could break them in one more fight.

He stretched his neck, eliciting a few cracks. He was fucking tired of this goddamn hospital. Summer was out there, and as soon as he delivered his report to Ozpin, he was going after her.

His ears picked up movement. The Fangs marched, then stopped, then marched, then stopped. Qrow almost stopped to think. They went from screaming, blathering idiots flailing their limbs around like shit-flinging orangutans to a somewhat organized force. If the timing of the footsteps was any indication, then they were moving with some semblance of formation.

He tried to shift his weapon to its gun configuration, and it remained stuck since the tussle with Summer. Damn it, it could've been useful here...

The entrance room he was in had around eight entrances. White Fang warriors slowly moved ever closer through each, divided equally, and maintaining some sort of loose formation. They were close enough to each other to provide overlapping lanes of fire, but just far enough that even his widest attacks would only catch one or two fuckers per swing.

Qrow felt his heart begin to race. This was it!

His enhanced hearing could pick up the sound of fresh clips being inserted into empty guns.

Qrow grasped his sword with both hands. THIS WAS IT!

He could hear the rasp of swords being unsheathed from their scabbards.

Qrow's legs coiled, ready to lunge, through the wall if need be. THIS WAS FUCKING I – _OH WHAT THE HELL IS THA –_

Qrow threw himself to the ground, right as _something_ burst out of the wall and crashed into the opposite side.

Qrow blinked. _What the actual fuck was th –_

Qrow dove again, this time to his left, right in time to evade yet _another one of those fucking things_ as they burst again from the wall.

This time, Qrow's sharp eyes caught a glance of what exactly was being fired at him. They were bullets, rifle bullets to be exact, yellow, electric dust rounds, propelled at him so fast they almost appeared white when they approached. Propelled so powerfully that they managed to shoot straight despite crashing through several walls.

Qrow swallowed. While aura passively protected the body, depending on individual control and said individual's reserves, the protection of aura had a certain limit, a certain threshold before it was overwhelmed, before it was _cracked_. Sure, if one had the reserves, it would simply reform after a few seconds, but sometimes, a few seconds was all a competent enemy needed.

Qrow didn't know whether his aura could tank those shots, and he decided he didn't want to find out.

Qrow Branwen quickly clambered to his feet, and when he looked up, he found himself staring into the barrels of thirty White Fang guns.

* * *

Pyrrha Nikos readied another shot.

She stood in the middle of one of the hospital's central corridors. Metal piping and wires coiled around her and before her, twisting into two almost straight parallel conductors. She'd charged them with her aura and Semblance of course, but now she'd laced half her entire supply of electric dust into them.

It had taken a while to construct, and she'd uttered a prayer that Jaune Arc was alright. Her faithful, stalwart friend that distracted the White Swordsman so she could get away.

The conductors were bigger now, longer, more focused, more powered. She'd had to create supports simply so she could lift the massive construct and pivot it left and right, but firing it, she felt that her every effort was worth it.

She called out to her aura, her reach quickly caressing the facade of nearly every metal in the building. Quickly, like a blind man feeling his way in the dark, she touched every piece of metal she could potentially polarize. She felt the hospital equipment, and quickly ignored it. She felt the wires and piping that carried both water and power, veritable veins and arteries that kept the building running. She felt a familiar breastplate, sword, and shield that could belong only to her dearest (and only) friend, as he took refuge under a hospital bed, and Pyrrha whispered her thanks into the air.

However, she found what she was looking for. Large concentrations of ramshackle armor and mass-produced weapons began converging onto a single room. Said single room held one particularly noteworthy guest with a very familiar greatsword.

The White Swordsman.

She immediately trained her construct at his direction. In between both highly magnetized rails, each of them generating alternating fields of positive and negative charges, she inserted her rifle, Miló.

Reaching into her pack, she'd withdrawn a handful of very special custom ammunition. Armor-piercing rounds containing crushed yellow dust crystals, its material durable enough to go through one or two walls without fragmenting and deforming.

She traced his form. To her senses, the greatsword was suspended in midair, held in a middle stance, probably with both hands. Tracing where his torso was, she pulled the trigger.

The yellow dust round left the barrel, the parallel rails both pushing and pulling it forward in an almost unreal pace. It pierced each concrete wall as if they were nothing more than cardboard, and still, it shot forward, inching ever closer and closer to the Swordsman's soft, pink flesh –

"Tsk." Pyr tutted in annoyance.

He dodged it last second. The yellow dust round shot forth, but she'd already considered its trajectory and ensured it would strike no one. Still, it didn't really matter so much that the round had missed.

The yellow dust round eventually disfigured, its durability overwhelmed, and it shattered onto the metal beams and pipes in the hospital wall.

Pyrrha felt her influence wax as the metal skeleton of the building itself became electrified, bowing and submitting to her will. She would continue to aim for the White Swordsman, every missed shot only increasing her sphere of influence and strengthening her powers.

Her one weakness was that if the Swordsman chased after her, she could do little to match his relentless speed, however, she had already considered that.

Just as she'd planned, the assembled faunus of the White Fang charged the Swordsman as he struggled to dodge her shots. From the way he had attacked both them and the Fang, as well as his complete disregard for the lives of innocents and collateral damage, it was likely he was a Rogue Huntsman or some manner of bounty hunter. She cared not. It was not uncommon for various subversive criminal factions to squabble amongst each other for scraps. As of this very moment, the only thing she cared about was stopping the White Swordsman's rampage, and besides, it wasn't as if she couldn't deal with the Fangs later.

Taking one last moment to check on Jaune's condition, she smiled, closed her eyes, and fired.

* * *

As soon as the first soundwaves of that specific gun reverberated in his ears, Qrow had dropped everything he was doing and lifted his weapon. The flat side of the blade covering his body like a shield.

As expected, another yellow dust round burst from out the walls, but this time, it had shattered upon the unyielding steel of his sword. The electric dust reacted, electrifying his sword, and sending currents of electricity through his body, but most of the damage and harm simply crackled at his aura.

It was some damage, but it wasn't anything debilitating, Qrow analyzed.

However, while blocking the shot didn't do much damage to Qrow's aura, it had distracted and staggered him for a precious fraction of a second.

Six of his enemies, flanked all around him, opened fire. The foe he had originally planned to strike down had drawn his weapon, and slashed him at the shoulder.

Qrow's aura held strong, a bulwark against harm, but each round and each strike had once again whittled at his soul, his precious reserves being chipped away.

"RRAAAGH!" Qrow swung his blade in a wide curve, sending three of his enemies sprawling on the ground. His sword rent whatever armor they wore, but then again, their armor was already damaged when they got there.

A quick glance proved his new suspicions. Every single one of his enemies was injured. Blood soaked the white swallowtail coats they wore, and their armor, and in some cases, their masks, were damaged or shattered.

He'd already defeated these men and women.

The enemy possessed either personnel with support Semblances or they had really, really good medics on their side. Wasn't as if they were short on medical supplies in a goddamn hospital.

More and more faunus poured into the room, and while each of them spread out, every single one of them fired at him.

Qrow identified three threats. The Fang? The Fang were problematic, and there were a lot of them, but they were far lacking in offensive capabilities. The Fang Healer? Annoying, but if he could triangulate their position, he could neutralize them easily. Simply put, they didn't have the firepower to bring him down.

Another yellow dust round burst from the wall, and Qrow dove to the side.

Qrow grit his teeth. That goddamn wallhacking sniper? Firepower that could _maybe_ hurt him? Clipping his movements and forcing openings in his stance and form? Threat numero uno.

Focusing his aura, Qrow swept the ground hard, sending debris, shattered tile and the boring kind of dust into the air, obscuring his form from his faunus adversaries. Bending his legs deep, he charged forward in the direction of the yellow dust sniper.

Midstep, he swung his sword left, bringing down an antlered faunus to the ground. He took another step, and brought low another foe, and with a mighty lunge, leaped through the room exit and –

 _THUD!_

Qrow Branwen crashed. Qrow Branwen crashed into the thin _fucking_ air. Qrow Branwen crashed into the thin _fucking_ air that looked like nothing at all. Qrow Branwen crashed into the thin _fucking_ air that looked like an open corridor and felt like a concrete wall.

Qrow staggered forward, bursting out of the concrete. Holy hell, he had just run into a wall _what the fuck._

He had emerged in a hallway, surrounded on both sides by angry Fangs, _in exactly the opposite direction he wanted to go._

Both sides of Fangs had opened fire, apparently fine with accidentally shooting each other as long as they managed to tag him. Qrow grit his teeth, and flared his aura to its most defensive states, and immediately engaged the faunus squad to his right.

Qrow swung, his blade passed through at least three of them, and –

-and nothing. Qrow blinked, his blade passed through at least three of them and did nothing at all. No, wait, the tip of his blade was inches away from reaching them. Did he misjudge the distance, _but he could've sworn that –_

By moving to attack his right, the faunus to his left moved in. One of them, a particularly stocky feathered chick drew a sword and swung for his left shoulder.

Qrow wanted to laugh. A slow, painfully-televised strike at one of the places people unconsciously reinforced with their auras? Really? Qrow merely tilted his body a couple of inches and –

-and promptly felt a blade stab his gut, and though his aura dispersed the damage, pain blossomed in his side. Qrow blinked. There before him, the same stocky feathered chick, wielding the same sword she slashed with, was retracting her hand from her successful thrust.

Reflexively, Qrow backhanded her with his left, sending her flying to her barnyard animal buddies behind her; however, as he turned, once again did he find himself face to face with the guns of a dozen angry warriors.

* * *

Emerald Sustrai looked into a mirror. Said mirror reflected another mirror, and said said mirror reflected another mirror, and said said said mirror reflected into yet another mirror, continuing on ad nauseam until it settled on a smelly old drunk guy capable of making her partner, Mercury Black look, or perhaps smell like a champion of acceptable hygiene.

"Give me a better look of the back of the hall," she muttered to her diminutive 'ally'.

Sitting by the windowpane, her lacy umbrella catching the dazzling moonlight, Neopolitan gave her a mischievous smirk before complying, raising a set of mirrors and expanding Emerald's view.

Emerald bit her lip. Her Semblance was an integral, essential part of Cinder's plans. Illusion Semblances were rare, especially her specific brand of illusion, where she could literally force her target to see anything she wanted him to see, smell or hear. In addition to that, this was Qrow Branwen, a Huntsman Veteran with access to the ears of Ozpin himself. She needed to keep her illusions subtle, nothing too drastic, lest she paint an even bigger target on herself and jeopardize Cinder's plans.

Emerald narrowed her eyes, and planted another illusion in Qrow's eyes.

She didn't know exactly how her power worked. Whether it messed with the signals travelling through a person's optical nerves, or modified sensory information in a person's brain and such, but what she did know was that she could manipulate more than just sight. As long as she could maintain eye contact, she could whisper her lies in someone's ears, weave realities in someone's eyes, and caress phantoms in someone's skin.

Qrow Branwen made another furious assault, and Emerald enforced her reality onto his senses.

 _The incoming bullets are actually two inches to the left,_ her Semblance whispered. _Don't worry, you can tank that shot, it's just a pea-shooter_. _The man trying to brain you with his sword? Don't worry, darling, he's still two seconds away, you could defeat the Fangs in front of you first then turn back to deal with him._

The incoming bullets struck Qrow's aura. Qrow took a shotgun to the face at point blank, choosing to tank it instead of the other desperate attacks. The flailing faunus with the sword struck him clean on the cheek.

Emerald bit her lip, then turned to Neo, her red eyes boring into mismatched orbs of pink and brown.

Neo raised an eyebrow and offered her an empty palm.

"Yeah, I know," Emerald grunted. "We should probably get moving, but let's be real. I'm Qrow Branwen's target, and if he even gets the clue that I'm escaping, we're fucked."

Neo brought up a mirror, showing full squads of White Fang soldiers advancing upon Qrow Branwen's position.

"Best not to take chances, Neo."

Neo raised her eyebrows in the universal 'you serious bruh?' expression.

"Of course, besides Qrow has been one of the biggest thorns in her side since forever. Now we have a chance to maybe take him down!"

"..."

"White Fang reinforcements? VPD and the SWAT? Vale-aligned Huntsmen? The Conciliar fucking Guard? Please, like they'd actually fucking come."

"..."

"Yes I am being rational. No, I am not doing this just because he looks a bit like Merc. No, I am not doing this just because he hounded us through the countryside and we had to eat Merc's boots to survive. Where did you get that idea?"

"..."

"No, for the last fucking time, I am not doing this because I want Cinder to notice me. I am a mature adult who needs no validation."

Neo huffed, and kicking off her perch, disappeared with a chiming of glass.

"Fine! Good riddance," Emerald scoffed. "I'll have plenty of fun here and escape on my own. Now, where was I?"

Qrow Branwen had once again narrowly evaded a shot from that mysterious yellow dust sniper. Gritting his teeth, he forced an opening in the Fang formation, and began charging forward again.

Emerald narrowed her eyes.

 _The Dust Sniper fired again,_ and as Qrow dodged to the left, preoccupied, _the doorway to the Sniper hazily shifted a few feet to the right..._

A thunderous crash resounded through the echoing halls, followed shortly by a howl of _"GODDAMN IT!"_

Emerald rubbed her hands together, and cackled madly.

* * *

"GODDAMN IT!" Qrow swore, staggering after running into yet another fucking wall. Goddamn stationary walls were going on to his to-kill-list.

"There he is, get him!" came the voice of the Fangs from behind him. While thirty of the fifty Fangs had marched forth to attack him, the remaining twenty had remained in a loose perimeter around him.

Big mistake. Five guys stretched thinly in every direction couldn't possibly stop him. They were probably just there to ensure he didn't leave their perimeter undetected.

He reached for his aura, and though it answered, it was diminished, dropping to around mid-yellows.

Damn. Qrow couldn't even remember the last time his aura was knocked down below green. The Fangs had been chipping at him slowly, and he couldn't even wipe them out with ease because if he stood too still, he'd be easy pickings for the sniper.

Again, he attempted to switch configurations from sword to scythe, only for the gears and cogs of his weapon's hilt to jam and lock.

Qrow snarled. That was the last _fucking_ time he used metal from goddamn fucking Vacuo.

He pressed himself against the wall to evade the concentrated fire of White Fang guns. No matter how many he seemed to beat, they all seemed to get right back up.

He doubled back, catching a full squad of five off guard and neutralizing them all in a single swing. Immediately, two more squads of five moved in, and though his swings could deflect the majority of the bullets, the sheer amount of gun that was being thrown at him was still chipping off his aura faster than what he was comfortable with.

Qrow stepped back, and he could see one of those said squads continue pursuing him, while the others knelt down to collect their fallen foes, dragging them off out of sight.

His experienced eyes took in the appearances of his foes, looking them up and down. No Fang, save maybe for that Lieutenant lasted more than a single attack from him, and these men and women, judging from their ruined apparel and gear lasted three.

He would've been impressed had they not been so damn irritating.

With almost contemptuous ease, Qrow dashed forth, blade swinging all the way, and broke through the hastily-erected perimeter.

In the end, this truly was their only real shortcoming. Had he continued to fight in that room, or perhaps death trap, it was likely he would've lost through attrition. The Fangs had some sort of healer, some sort of illusionist, and some sort of sniper. The illusionist and sniper tied him down, leaving him open to withering gunfire from the Fang rank and file, and the healer ensured they could rotate and keep coming.

The one thing they didn't have was the snare. It was an impressive trap, sure, but they had no real means of keeping him there. No real means to keep him fighting on their lopsided terms.

Immediately, as he broke through their perimeter, he could feel the entire formation, the entire circle begin to close in, giving chase. The walls burst forth as another yellow dust round sailed for his position, and it only narrowly missed by inches.

There was the opening he was waiting for.

Using the bullet holes in the walls as reference, Qrow immediately dashed through the corridors, weaving left and right. The Sniper's shots began to veer off wildly, each of them wider than the last. Behind him, to their credit, the Fang had attempted to keep up, but to someone like Qrow, they may as well have been crawling.

A quick step to the right had Qrow dodging another desperate yellow dust round. Nothing could stop him, _nothing would stop him._

Qrow stopped.

See, the thing was, no Huntsman manages to survive to Qrow's age without developing a healthy danger sense. Given that Huntsmen were always out in the field, sometimes in teams, sometimes alone, and in Qrow's case, nearly almost always solo, a healthy dose of paranoia was almost a prerequisite.

Qrow sensed _malice_.

From the Sniper he could feel this cold detachment; he or she simply wanted him neutralized. From the Fangs he could feel a dizzying orgy of desperate hope and fear; the faunus dancing the saber's edge between life and death. But from this new presence?

This new presence was nothing but pain and anger. This new presence was out for blood, and the fact that it apparently pinged on Qrow's senses meant that it also happened to pose a threat.

Qrow walked forward slowly. He wasn't in one of the main corridors, but in a narrow side corridor instead. Judging from the time it took for the Sniper's Yellow Dust rounds to hit him, he was very, _very_ close.

Qrow stopped mid-step, his enemy was here.

The gnashing of metal on stone screeched in his ears. Someone was echoing his favourite entrance gimmick? Heavy bootsteps began to thud closer and closer until a large bear of a man came into view.

"You're still alive?" Qrow whistled.

* * *

Unlike all the other Fangs he was just fighting, this one was showered in blood. The White Fang Lieutenant widened his legs into a battle stance, raising his beaten chainsword in one last final act of defiance.

"You're still alive?" Qrow Branwen whistled. "Tell you what, you and your men lay down your arms and I guarantee we won't kill ya."

The Lieutenant smiled through broken lips, fangs clearly bared and visible, even to a human's eyes.

Qrow Branwen chuckled. "You'll die, you know."

"Die? No. No, you don't understand," the Lieutenant whispered.

The faunus raised his sword in a battle stance. "This is when I truly _live_."

Qrow's lips almost curled upwards as he readied his own weapon, their stances mirroring each other.

"You understand it too, don't you, Scythe?" spoke the faunus.

Qrow smiled. "What's your name?"

Name? A name was more than just a simple set of words. Names held power. Did names denote identity and function, or did they define them? In Valean Culture, the wolf was a predator, a threat. They attacked precious livestock in farms, and possibly attacked weary travellers on the roads. The Atlesians would disagree, denoting to the wolf virtues of strength and loyalty. The wolf was a hunter in even those frozen wastes, and worked in packs, every member working in one perfect order.

The Lieutenant did not use his name in a long time. No, perhaps it was no longer his name when he embraced 'Lieutenant'. His old name ceased to become relevant.

"I am a Lieutenant of the White Fang," he rumbled, before he raised his sword and attacked.

Lieutenant. An officer, a leader of the pack, high enough the totem pole to make decisions but low enough to be expendable.

He was born into the cause, and he had given his all to the cause. That was all there was to it.

His aura was already in the red when he charged the White Swordsman. Stomping so hard a web of cracks bloomed on the floor, he swung his chainsword over his head in a mighty strike.

 _CLANG!_

Both swords met in a flurry of steel. The Lieutenant roared with his last breaths, the final vestiges of his anger seeming to feed the furious howling of his blade. With every strike, the razor sharp teeth of his chainsword bit into his foe, but for all their effort, all they chewed was cold steel.

Qrow Branwen's face was solemn, if amused, and his sword reflected his countenance. His sword was utilitarian, yet bore ornate engravings, and moved steadily from side to side, blocking the Lieutenant's strikes with the utmost efficiency.

In one final moment, the Lieutenant grasped his sword with both hands, and brought the blade down on his foe.

In that final moment, Qrow grasped his sword with both hands, and brought the blade down on his foe _faster_ , parrying the Lieutenant's sword and cleaving through aura, armor, flesh and bone in one fell swoop.

Qrow's humongous blade dug into the faunus' body, stopping at his abdomen, right after cleaving through his heart and innards.

"Good fight," Qrow clicked his tongue. "Good fight."

The Lieutenant dropped his weapon, the chainsword clattering uselessly on the floor, its incessant buzzing finally silenced.

It was over.

"Good fight, Lieutenant," spoke Qrow, voice clear without slur, his stance unmoving, and his blade in his foe's body. "You got nothing to be ashamed of."

What?

 _Qrow Branwen thought he had won?!_

The Lieutenant's broken lips and chipped teeth widened in a large grin.

Qrow's eyes widened as he heard a familiar rasping, the rasping of a sword being drawn from its sheath.

He turned around and saw _her._

"Summer," Qrow rasped, voice dry.

Emerging from the shadows to the side, the moon at her back, Summer Rose had appeared once more, drawn her blade and pointed it directly between Qrow Branwen's eyes.

Panic flooded into Qrow's nerves like ice water when Summer's sword had begun to glow the purest white, burning gold near the tips. Slowly but surely, her features twisted into anger, and the gold shifted to crimson.

The color of Qrow's aura.

Qrow struggled, his blade was still in the Lieutenant's body and failed to budge.

Eyes steady and face determined, a stream of white and crimson shot out of the white Arc sword.

Qrow grit his teeth in anticipation for an attack, only for the stream of what had to be aura miss him by mere inches.

 _SHE MISSED?!_

Qrow once again looked at who he thought his teammate was, and from the momentary satisfaction playing across those elegant features, Qrow knew she hadn't.

Qrow turned his back to Summer, tracing the stream of white and crimson aura, and saw that, no, he wasn't the target of that stream.

It was the Lieutenant.

The Lieutenant bellowed out a harsh, cruel laugh, his warm breath blowing on Qrow's face as the faunus's aura began to flare a bright crimson.

With a heave, Qrow attempted to pull out his sword, only for his eyes to widen as the blade refused to budge. Whatever Summer was doing seemed to overcharge the faunus's aura and regenerative abilities; the faunus was healing _around his weapon_ , enveloping the blade in new flesh, bone and aura.

Qrow pulled once more, only for the blade to move a few, pitiful inches. The Lieutenant continued laughing, blood erupting from his throat and onto Qrow's face even as his meaty hands wrapped around Qrow's and instead pushed the blade _deeper_ in.

" _THERE THEY ARE!_ " came a voice from further down the hall. Qrow managed a quick glance, only to spot the thunderous chorus of boots as squads and squads of White Fang warriors rejoined the fray.

Desperation now fuelling his muscles, Qrow pulled again, overpowering the Lieutenant, but before his blade could come free, he was distracted by a glint in the corner of his eye.

Qrow turned to look, and the metallic glinting turned out to be a chain. A chain. A chain sickle. A kusarigama to be precise.

The weighted chains hooked around Qrow's neck, and while the last dredges of his aura prevented them from cutting, they tightened, and he was pulled from his feet, _pulled away from his weapon._

Qrow traced the chains, and they led to what looked like a teenage huntress in white, olive, and leather. Qrow's eyes widened in recognition as he reconciled that green hair and red eyes with the picture sent to him by Glynda Goodwitch earlier that night.

 _That was her_ , _that was his target._

Qrow's mind erupted in epiphany. That was his target, the thief working alongside Roman Torchwick. His target was working with the Queen, he had spotted his target alongside other Hunters her age, _he had spotted her fighting alongside other Hunters that could be agents of the Queen themselves._

He needed to get that information to Ozpin. At the start of the night they had almost no information on the Queen and her pawns. Yet, now, now he had faces, he had weapons, and he had maybe aura signatures. A little coordination with the other Kingdoms, and they could go on a manhunt all over Remnant!

Qrow flared the last of his aura reserves, pulling off the chains binding his neck.

Rising to his feet, Qrow's eyes darted around wildly. To his front, Summer Rose stood, cold blue eyes glowing from under her hood. To his side, the Thief shifted her kusarigama into a gun configuration. To his back, the Lieutenant had sunk to one knee, still impaled by his sword, and coughing out his guts.

Qrow jumped back, and reached out for his sword.

Pink and brown eyes twisted in cruel mirth.

When Qrow's hands touched the hilt of his weapon, the hilt, the guard, the blade itself, and even the White Fang Lieutenant it was all attached to shattered into sparkly pieces of glass.

Behind him, a second figure, that of a shorter, well-dressed girl in white appeared at the side of Summer Rose.

Qrow stared at his hands, and swore. Movement seized his attention and when he looked up, he found himself again staring into the guns of the White Fang.

They fired, carpeting the area in lead and dust. Qrow dodged, yet even he could not dodge every single round.

The White Fang rallied, seeing their adversary weaponless, and they charged in a wave, some even daring to close in melee range.

Qrow's fists tightened, and he threw himself once more into battle. Weapon or not, a Huntsman was a Huntsman. His fists slammed into the ranks of the Fang, and his open hands broke wrists and seized their weapons for his own use.

Against the might of fifty men, Qrow could hold his own.

Behind him, Summer Rose raised her sword.

 _Behind him, Jaune Arc raised his sword._

The multitudes of faunus Qrow had knocked out slowly returned to consciousness. Second by second, more and more faunus began to rise, butting Qrow with their rifle, slashing him with their swords, and shooting him with their guns.

Emerald Sustrai narrowed her eyes.

Qrow blinked, and he was struck. Overhead slashes became low thrusts. Bullets began to turn invisible. His vision, alongside the dark of night, the haze of the sleeping gas, and the alcohol he imbibed, began to grow even blurrier. Voices whispered in his ears, and he felt wounds where he knew he had not been struck.

Neopolitan's eyes shifted, pink and brown alternating and dancing.

Qrow continued fighting even as the floors shifted and he considered closing his eyes. His left eye reported a set of visual information that contradicted what he saw in the right. If he closed his eyes, he could see yet a third set of sights, or at least he thought he was closing his eyes.

Weaponless, injured, losing horribly and effectively blind, everything began to gray out, to meld together into an indecipherable blur. Yet despite the greyscale, only one thing remained crystal clear to Qrow.

The radiant white figure still stood in his midst, whose eyes shone a silvery sky blue.

There were so many things he wanted to tell her, Qrow thought. She'd missed out on like, almost a decade of Ruby and Yang's lives. He wanted to tell her everything, how Tai had gone completely batshit insane when she left, how Ruby had kept trying to copy her cookies and ended up burning the kitchen and the forest down, and how Yang still managed to wet the bed at her age. He needed to tell her everything they'd found on the Queen, to tell her about Atlas' rampant militarization, about the tensions rising in Vacuo, about Raven's disappearance and abandonment.

Using Summer as a guiding light, despite the rest of his world descending into chaos and darkness, he charged forth, one last time.

He threw aside White Fang soldiers like they were nothing, like leaves blowing helplessly in the wind. The Thief threw her chains, and he batted them aside. He stepped forth, and the Thief and the Midget stepped back.

" _Tai, Ruby, Yang,"_ Qrow spoke, reaching out his hand to Summer.

Summer tilted her head to the side.

" _Who?"_ she asked, genuine confusion lacing her words.

Hearing that single word was the most painful thing Qrow had felt that night.

Qrow's aura sputtered out.

A yellow dust round burst forth from the walls and into his outstretched hand, shattering it, breaking bone, rending flesh and throwing him to the wall.

Pyrrha Nikos ejected the bullet casing from her rifle, and reloaded her gun.

* * *

It was strange, Jaune Arc reflected.

"S-Sir!" one Laurel Carnelian snapped a hasty, sloppy salute. "Is-is he finally dead, sir?!"

Jaune knelt by the fallen Huntsman's side. After he'd fallen by the wall, the Fangs pumped a few more rounds in him for good measure. Only when the final crimson lights of his aura died out and bullets began entering his shoulder did they stop firing.

Jaune looked at his downcast, blank face. Slowly, he moved his fingers to his throat to check for a pulse.

Huntsmen really were hard to kill. As long as a tiny bit of aura, a tiny bit of soul, a tiny bit of hope remained, their bodies would try to heal, to regenerate back to a state of wellness.

It really was strange, Jaune Arc reflected, that despite the fact that this was probably the strongest Huntsman he had seen, Jaune never truly felt threatened. Like, this man would hurt him, beat him up, but he wouldn't actually kill him or do permanent damage.

His palms tingled, but he received worse from the likes of Winter Schnee, the Grimm, or perhaps even from the Fangs standing behind him.

A heart-shaped face butt in from the side of his vision. "Is something wrong, sir?!" Laurel butt in.

Before he removed his fingers from the swordsman, he forced in a tiny spark of aura down the beaten man's throat. Not quite enough to heal him to anything resembling a combat ready state, but enough to keep him from bleeding out. Easy pickings for the VPD.

"He's dead," Jaune lied.

The shoulders of the White Fang in the hallway all relaxed, tension leaving their shoulders.

Jaune clenched his hands into fists. Nope, no tingling, no itching, no numbing. He was good. Either that or his palms were broken now.

Flaring and unflaring his aura, he took stock and found his reserves deep within the red. He truly had to test his Semblance out some more. Was he truly infusing aura to other people, or simply bringing them to states and conditions where aura could best replenish itself?

What was going to happen now, Jaune wondered. He didn't know much of the situation. The Fangs had come here for the Thief, the pedophile bounty huntsman had probably come to either steal the Thief or fight off the Fangs, Pyr was here for shits and giggles, the Assassin was here to stab people, and the Thief had lost her memories.

Jaune's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. The Thief still managed to fight extremely well though, and she seemed to easily find and make use of her gear. Good instincts, knowledge, and hard-earned discipline, carrying over despite memory loss?

Regardless, the Fangs had been defanged, Pyr was probably kicking ass and taking names somewhere in the building, the Thief's memories were gone, and the Fangs seemed to be scribbling ' _I touch little boys'_ and variants thereof onto the White Swordsman's clothes, weapon, and skin with permanent markers.

Jaune approved, that way the cops would instantly know what he was also guilty for. Such initiative had to be rewarded.

Jaune turned to his side, looking at the corner where the Thief, and the Assassin, Neopolitan, shuffled off to. They looked to be deep in conversation, yet he could not hear anything from where he was. Words already forming on his tongue, he reached out to them and –

Jaune blinked. His finger touched something smooth and cold, some sort of invisible barrier separating him and the image of the Thief and Neopolitan. He reached out to them, and the entire hallway, as well as the images of both girls seemed to shatter into glittering shards of disappearing glass.

Jaune closed his mouth. They were gone.

Fuck.

Jaune resisted the urge to swear. This was a fucking mess. Their prime lead on Roman Torchwick was gone, the hospital had a gas attack, the Assassin was gone, and here he was all alone surrounded by terrorists in the middle of a crime scene.

 _What the hell was he supposed to do with them?!_

 _Fight them?_ No dice, he was scraping the bottom of his aura barrel, and being beaten and mobbed by the very people he healed was a stupid way to go.

 _Escape?_ He could casually walk away and leave them to the authorities, but then _oh, I dunno_ , they might remember that they had an entire hospital's worth of people as leverage? Jaune crossed that out from the list.

No, Jaune had to find some way of defusing this situation.

Jaune's eyes peered into the crowd. He could see it in the way their eyes shifted and their bodies twitched. He could see it in the way they rubbed their cold hands together and in the way they stood. They were, in a single word, _terrified_.

They wanted to escape.

Their objective was lost, their reinforcements likely weren't coming, and they faced certain death by staying here in some grim, useless act of defiance.

Jaune agreed. He wanted out too.

Jaune lifted his hand to massage his temples, and then stopped, suddenly aware that he was the center of attention.

The Fangs milled around uncertainly, reloading their weapons, bandaging whatever wounds remained, and spreading out under cover. Despite all those tasks, they all had one thing in common.

They were looking to him for orders.

He had asserted authority, and in their desperation, they'd submitted. He couldn't afford to look weak.

The hand that was about to massage his temple instead ran through his hair in a move Jaune thought (hoped) was suave.

Addendum: he couldn't afford to look weak, lest they remember who was (partially, hopefully, maybe?) responsible for getting them in this shitfest in the first place.

He took a quiet breath, widened his stance, straightened his back, and put his hands on his hips. Jaune looked up and moved his lips, whispering a silent thank you to Bianca for the fact that his cloak made his shoulders look bigger than what they actually were.

 _He had no idea what the fuck he was doing._

All eyes locked on him, Jaune smiled.

 _Thankfully, neither did they._

Jaune turned on his heel, meeting the gazes of his erstwhile lieutenants and ringleaders, and… promptly paused. Outside of Laurel Carnelian, he knew none of them, and the fact that they still had their masks and hoods on really didn't help either.

His piercing gaze did not go unnoticed, and unconsciously, they began straightening up, forming into little lines. He never thought he'd say it, but he was glad Adam Taurus, along with his colourful vocabulary of nothing more than "hn's", "hmph's", and various grunts led the Fang.

Granting his impromptu officers temporary designations, he slowly met their gazes one by one. Laurel? _Nod._ Floofball? _Nod._ Fur Guy? _Nod._ Squirrel Girl? _Nod._

Slowly, Jaune lifted his hands, palms facing the air, looking as if he were about to break out in prayer. Faunus eyes trailed his form, observing his every move in some sort of daze.

And then he clapped his hands hard, causing most faunus, particularly those of the dog and cat varieties to jump in surprise. He took one step forward, focused his last vestiges of aura into his throat, and spoke in his most commanding voice.

"Everyone!" Jaune spoke, and the world listened. "Vale has sent one of her greatest Huntsman…" Melanie whispered a name in his ear. "…the Scythe of Vale himself, to cut us down!"

Jaune paused dramatically, cloak billowing around him, casting shadows throughout the hall. With an impressive flourish, he pointed his finger at the fallen White Swordsman!

"And though we have kicked this second-rate _nobody_ Huntsman's pedophile ass up and down, we _cannot_ be careless, _for Qrow Branwen, Vale's Finest, himself is on his way to fight us_!"

Jaws dropped, and some Fangs slowly took a look at the fallen White Swordsman, then back at Jaune, then back at the Swordsman. Over the earphones in his head, he could hear strange choking sounds.

Jaune nodded his head gravely. Truly, had he been in their place, he too would've been struck speechless by the news. No matter though, _he had to act!_

"You, you, and you," Jaune spoke to Fluffles, Snowball, and Squirrel Girl, waking them up from their dazes. "Take your teams and get ready to move, we need to leave this place before he and his forces arrive!" He turned to the blinking Laurel, "Laurel, your team is with me; we're taking point!"

The Fangs began to assemble and move, no doubt spurred into action by his urgent warnings. Jaune had to mute his reactions; he counted at least fifty of Adam Taurus' most experienced soldiers, and here he was about to let them escape.

Jaune took a breath. Was he doing the right thing? The Fangs weren't innocent in this, in fact, they'd started this whole goddamn mess by attacking a hospital (fine, a hospital-fortress) in the first place! If he turned them over, they would grant the authorities better intel on the Fang and deprive Adam of useful men.

He could have Penny or the Twins subtly contact the authorities to ambush the Fangs behind him or something. Sure, there would be collateral damage, but…

They'd descended another floor before Laurel approached him. She moved close, yet remained a respectful several paces behind him.

"Excuse me, sir?" Laurel spoke, her blonde head bowed in deference. "I-I'd just like to thank you for… well, everything."

"Hmm," Jaune acknowledged her without breaking stride.

"Our orders from Adam were to avoid conflict with you at all costs, a-and though we mistook Qro-that pedophile for you, you still rallied and led us."

"Hmm, oh yeah. Don't mention it," Jaune scratched his nose.

"E-even though one of us s-shot y-you and…"

"Mmmhmm."

"A-and I w-was m-m-mean to you and –" Laurel bowed her head, cheeks flushing.

"Laurie, it's fine, seriously," Jaune scratched his head. "Yo–we, _we_ weren't able to secure that little thief anyway. If anything, I should be apologizing to you."

"I-I guess what I'm trying to say is..." Laurel took a deep breath, and shone him a bright smile. "Thank you for helping us out. We really owe you our lives. We were fools to doubt your promise."

Jaune smiled back in reply. "Believe me, it was no problem, I was here anywa –"

Promise.

 _Promise._

Jaune froze.

 _Promise._

 _PROMISE._

 _ARARARGGGRBLARRRBGRRGBBGRRRB –PROMISE!_

He could hear the authoritative, yet warm tones of his Father merge with the angelic voice of his Mother, alongside the voices of passionate Rouge, aloof Bianca, and everyone else resound in his mind.

" _Remember Jaune,"_ the voices had merged, overlapping one another seamlessly. _"Arcs never go back on their word."_

"Motherfucker," Jaune whispered.

Being the young, stupid child he was back then, he had asked what happened if he didn't.

" _Oh,"_ the singularity spoke, nine separate voices cheerfully replying in perfect harmony. _"Your dick explodes."_

Aw, shit, now he couldn't screw up.

"S-sir?!" Laurel stammered.

Before Jaune could respond, a cheerful tone beeped in his ear and Penny began to speak.

"I bring good tidings, Friend Jaune," Penny chirped. "The Conciliar Guard are on their way to you right now, in force!"

" _Sir Jaune?_ Is something wrong?!" his panic must have shown on his face.

Jaune Arc found himself at a crossroads, at a fork of destiny. On the first path, he could honor his promise, allowing enemies of Vale and humanity free to wreak havoc on civilization. Though the White Fang fought for a worthy cause, their actions would throw the Kingdoms into chaos and disarray, and put countless innocents at risk. On the second path, he could break his promise, be branded a wuss and a chicken, then his dick would explode.

Both his heads at stake, Jaune took a deep breath, before making his decision.

"The Conciliar _fucking_ Guard are here," warned Jaune, the words coming out through clenched teeth.

Laurel gaped at him, doing a wonderful impression of a deer-caught-in-the-headlights faunus.

Jaune felt his heart sink. Did he truly do the right thing? Did he just condemn innocents to simply die later on in a future White Fang attack? Did letting them go mean that he too was guilty of their future crimes: murder, terrorism, hilariously edgy propaganda, and urinating in public?! There had to be some way, some middle ground to stop this.

Jaune twisted, placing both hands on Laurel Carnelian's shoulders. She flinched, and Jaune cupped her chin, staring deep into her eyes.

"I need you to do something for me, Laurie," Jaune spoke, his voice smooth as silk.

Laurie's mouth was still open, her eyes still wide, akin to that of a doe facing an oncoming Atlesian mech. Around them the Fang column had gone completely still.

"I need you..." Jaune whispered, his voice warm in her ears.

"S-Sir?"

"... to make me a promise," Jaune continued, blue eyes almost glowing silver in the moonlight.

Laurel had started hyperventilating. The Fangs had abandoned all pretense of having a formation, instead clustering around and trying to get better views.

" _I-I'll do anything, sir,"_ Laurel whispered, her hands somehow finding their way to Jaune's shoulders.

" _Anything?_ " Jaune plastered a teasing smirk on his face.

" _Anything,"_ Laurel closed her eyes and leaned forward –

"Great!" Jaune grinned, and in the blink of an eye, he was a socially acceptable distance away from Laurel. "Promise me you guys'll be good?"

"I... ah, yeah, huh?" Laurel was blinking her eyes in rapid succession.

Jaune reached over and clapped her on the shoulder. "Awesomesauce."

"Alright everyone!" Turning his eyes to the suddenly large crowd, Jaune drew his sword and raised it up high. "The Conciliar Guard is on their way to our position, probably led by Veteran Huntsman Qrow Branwen!"

Almost immediately, the entire task force stood on guard as if electrocuted, but before any large reactions could be made, Jaune spoke up.

"The facts are simple," Jaune declared. "We cannot beat them, not right now. So we're not going to waste our lives trying."

Jaune pointed Crocea Mors at his officers. "You each know your groups, I want you all to escape. You each know the terrain, give each other covering fire while you withdraw. Fighting retreat. The Guard doesn't know _exactly_ where we are because of all the damage everywhere."

One of his officers spoke up, "But sir, if the Guard themselves are here, won't they have encircled the premises?! Surely they have all the exits covered by now!"

Jaune pressed a button in his earpiece, nodded, then almost exasperatedly, he snapped his fingers. At once, all the cameras in the corridor stopped moving. One by one, the light bulbs of specific cameras began lighting up in a bright, neon green, blazing a path.

"Follow the lights," Jaune met his gaze. "This is an emergency fortress for Vale, so it has its own secret exits. You can probably ditch the uniforms and blend in the crowds when you're done."

The Fangs stared, jaws agape, staring at his fingers, then back at the lit path.

One Fang, the Faunus he'd tentatively designated as "Fuzzball" raised a finger. "S-sir? Uhh, I don't mean to question you, b-but... aren't those emergency exits locked like... 24/7?"

"Oh, don't worry about that. I gotcha," Jaune turned to him and offered him a sunny grin. "Any other questions?"

"I want _you_ all to escape," murmured Laurel. "You didn't say _we."_

Jaune's smile faded a little as he turned to regard her.

"Sorry," He spoke, eyes judging his crowd. On one hand, doing this rather than leading them in person would seem suspicious, but on the other hand, judging from the way they looked to their new escape route, they desperately just wanted to bail.

He couldn't fight them, and he couldn't be seen with them either. He checked Laurel's expression, and he was relieved that she spoke out of concern and not suspicion.

Pulling his hood over his head, Jaune made his decision.

"Tell me," he met each of their eyes personally. "Do you trust me?"

They paused to stare at him. Their expressions betraying both desperate hope and suspicion.

"The Conciliar Guard are coming," Jaune spoke. "The handpicked bodyguard of the Councilmen themselves, led by a Veteran Huntsman so famous _even I know who he is_ ," Jaune chuckled. "We won't stand a chance if we're caught."

Jaune pointed up at his face. "They have no idea who I am, and I can probably slip through unnoticed." Jaune then pointed at his men, "You guys though, even if you strip and grab a fresh set of clothes, will still be questioned. You'll be fifty or so suspicious faunus in the wake of a White Fang attack."

The Fangs began stirring, eyes narrowing in comprehension. Even Laurel by the corner looked guilty, eerily reminiscent of a kicked puppy.

Aww, these guys weren't so bad. Sure they were planning to put an entire hospital's worth of people at risk, but here they were all worried for him and stuff. If they didn't try to kill him first, Jaune might've felt a little guilty for considering turning them in to the Guard.

One by one, then group by group, the hasty team he'd formed slowly disbanded, running down the path Penny had lit up. Last to leave was Laurel, who'd given him a nod, her expression reflecting something Jaune couldn't quite describe.

Jaune sighed, then turned around.

Any second now, the Guard, the opened hand and closed fist, and some would say, shadowy dagger of the Council would come marching through those halls.

Jaune frowned. He'd had all angles covered right? So why did it feel like he was forgetting something?

* * *

"Ass...holes..." The White Fang Lieutenant gasped, humongous sword buried deep in his shoulder. Pointed at his prone form were the weapons of the heavily-armored and masked Conciliar Guardsmen of Vale.

* * *

 **Chapter 16 E –**

* * *

"...And that's what I remember," Qrow grumbled, as bandages were being wrapped around his wounds.

"So, let me get this straight," Kestrel Winchester grunted. "You pick up an SOS from the VPD, get bumrushed by the Fangs, then they catch you off guard with new fighters on the same level as Adam Taurus."

"Eeeyup." Qrow drawled.

"You're shitting me," Kestrel grumbled.

"Maaayybeee."

"You know, Qrow," Kestrel sighed. "We'd probably solve half the problems in Vale if your goddamn boss actually told us what he was up to."

"And let you get in the way?" Qrow scoffed. "No thanks."

Kestrel frowned. "We go way back, Branwen. You tell me, since when exactly have I been someone who couldn't accomplish what I'd set out to do?"

Qrow's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, before widening brightly. "You know what, you're right. Thanks for the assist, and I'll write you guys up a report first thing in the morning."

The comforting hand on Qrow's shoulder tightened into a vise-like grip.

The indigo eyes of the Winchester bored into the red eyes of the Branwen. "You're not disappearing again. We have _oh so many_ questions that need answering."

It was then that Qrow realized that the Conciliar Guards, who had once moved in to flank him protectively, now also conveniently hid him from view from both the cameras and the hallway exits.

Hidden from view, Qrow concentrated on his remaining slivers of aura. "Kind of hypocritical of you, don't you think? I notice the cops aren't with you."

"Need to know basis," Kestrel grunted, rising to his feet. His right hand went to his hip and unstrapped his oversized mace. " _We_ need to know. As of present, they _don't._ "

"Oh yeah?" Qrow grinned. The window wasn't far, all it would take was one jump. His aura reserves were slowly replenishing themselves somewhat faster than normal, he just had to keep them talking. "How you guys plannin' on lugging me around out of sight then?"

Kestrel threw his head back and laughed. However Qrow expected Kestrel Winchester, the sullen bastard, to react though, that wasn't it.

"You know, Qrow," Kestrel's laughter died down, though he was still grinning. "I'm really, _really_ glad you asked that question."

Kestrel turned to the Guard standing on his right, and nodded.

Said Conciliar Guardsman stepped forward, and raised his arm.

Qrow blinked. Something was both very, _very_ wrong and very, _very_ familiar about that man's aura.

The Guardsman swung his hand, slicing through the air.

It was almost as if space and time itself were rent. The gloved hand cut a small, rapidly widening tear in the empty space of the hallway itself, the blank void thrumming with scarlet energies begat from the soul itself.

 _This was a portal._

Qrow froze. _"Raven?"_ he whispered.

No sooner than he had uttered those words, a mace of gunmetal grey, engraved with delicate dust filigrees of wings and birds in flight crashed upon Qrow Branwen's head.

* * *

 **Chapter 16 End.**

 **AN: God, I hate that won't keep my linebreaks.**


	18. Chapter 17: Step of the Schemers

**AN: This was originally supposed to be much longer, but decided to split it into two chapters again, given how many interludes my "fallout" chapters have.**

 **AN2: RT is** ** _finally_** **adding more factions and characters, thank God.**

 **AN3: It is now my (and your) headcanon that Mistral is Remnant!EastAsia because Remnant!Greece is in debt.**

 **AN4: We should totally find ways to kill off Blake's dad.**

 **AN5: I'm writing this while watching the new ep. We finally have a name for the WF Leader, Sienna Khan. That's a girl name, right? Totally a girl name, but hey, we have a bad guy named Hazel. I'm just hoping Khan's not those two red caped fennec-eared twins in the opening.**

 **AN6: I have identified Salem's true motivations. She's a strong, independent Grimm woman fighting against oppressive standardized huntsman education in the most efficient, sustainable way possible: the eradication of humanity. Truly, a role model for the ages.**

 **AN7: Jaune's true insignia is a bunny. You have no idea how relevant this is to what I have planned in the future.**

 **AN8: Just watched World of Remnant on the Kingdoms. I'm just glad I managed to guess enough details about em, and that the way I divided the Arc Sisters up was accurate enough.**

* * *

Ruby Rose had been shaken awake in the middle of the night by her sister.

 _Not this shi…_ sugar _again,_ Ruby thought to herself.

The first thing she did upon waking up was to yawn. Somewhat refreshed from that, even as her sister Yang Xiao Long continued to sputter incoherently, Ruby padded over to Yang's room. Opening the closet, Ruby withdrew fresh sheets. Yang had no doubt wet her bed again, Ruby knew the drill.

In efficient, practiced motions, she replaced her half-sister's lilac bedsheets with clean orange ones. Nodding to herself and still veritably half-dead, Ruby pat herself on the back for a job well done, and went back to sleep.

For the second time that night, Ruby Rose had been shaken awake by a blonde.

Her eyes focused on lilac eyes and blonde hair. Dad was waking her up for some reason, and Yang was beside him, already dressed and pantomiming explosions with her hands.

 _Huh, did Dad have an accident too?_ Dad was a grown-up, but he was still prone to the occasional accident whenever he and Uncle Qrow went drinking. Ruby supposed she should just be thankful the house didn't stink of rotting, dissolving Boarbatusk carcass like last time.

Ruby had already taken out another set of bedsheets before Yang screamed in frustration, ran to the kitchen, came back, and shoved a cookie in Ruby's half-open, drooling mouth.

Ruby blinked once. Ruby blinked twice. On the third blink, she was awake.

"Yang?" Big silver eyes slowly focused. "Yang, what's going on?"

Yang's big, meaty man-hands shook her shoulders. "Rubes, get dressed! Uncle Qrow – he… _he's dead_!"

* * *

 **Arc of the Revolution**

 **Chapter 17**

 **Step of the Schemers**

* * *

"As of a few hours ago, the Third Bastion of Alchemilla, otherwise known as the Alchemilla Hospital came under sudden and deliberate attack by the organization known as the White Fang.

In a completely unprovoked attack, hundreds of faunus combatants had entered Alchemilla and held the people within hostage for three to four hours. While the Huntsmen _failed_ to mobilize, it was only due to the swift and decisive response of the Seventh Conciliar Guard and the Valean Police that the White Fang failed in their attempt.

After hours of fierce fighting, elements of the Seventh Conciliar Guard under my fellow Councilman Matthew Riesling, along with the Valean Police Department were finally able to defeat the Fang terrorists, turning aside their commander, Adam Taurus, himself.

Though Vale, in its valiant defense of innocent lives, has triumphed over those who would seek to harm her; it does not change the fact that the lives of many civilians and non-combatants were lost.

Men, women, sons, daughters, brothers and sisters, all there to receive healing or to visit loved ones have been caught in the crossfire. Some were killed by stray bullets, while others died due to poisoned gas used by the White Fang. There were also people who died when walls and ceilings came toppling down on their defenceless bodies.

The Fang does not discriminate. Faunus and Humans have died at their hands.

Let us not blink. Let us not deceive ourselves.

The White Fang, _the Old Fang_ , that fought for justice and inequality was stillborn; dead before it could even truly live.

We have _always_ been at war with this New Fang.

 **Councilman Mark Malbec: On the Alchemilla Incident**

* * *

"All warfare is based on deception."

 **Sunshine Tzu**

* * *

"If we don't know what we're doing, no way in Vacuo will our enemies ever anticipate us!"

 **Old Valean Military Doctrine**

* * *

The next few hours passed in a blur. Ruby Rose blinked. She'd haphazardly thrown on her boots and cloak over her pyjamas, and her beautiful baby Crescent Rose was slung on her shoulders.

The car stopped. Thrumming with fear and adrenalin, the three members of the Rose-Xiao Long Household stepped out into the environs of the Alchemilla Hospital.

The place looked like a battlefield. Weapons were strewn all about the area. The entrance hall was filled with scores of shell-shocked people and VPD personnel. While the building itself had been cleared out, the unaffected areas on its ground floor were opened up and used to house and treat the wounded. The place was a hospital, after all.

Her father, Taiyang Xiao Long, strode forth. All traces of his usually meek and timid persona gone, and in its place was barely concealed rage and fury. He walked, and the crowds parted before him.

Yang Xiao Long strode next, her lilac eyes bleeding into red. Her hair had begun to glow, evoking images of the midday sun and of hungry infernos. Every step she took left cracks and pockmarks on the much-abused ground.

Ruby Rose followed, shoulders hunched together, feet shuffling forward nervously. Her feet were as cold as her hands, and her face was pale. In the wake of the Lion and the Dragon, she was a mouse.

A stern eyed woman caught their gaze. Ruby recognized her; after all, she had met her just hours earlier. Heels, stockings, skirt, white shirt, purple cape, green eyes, sharp face framed with blonde hair, this was Glynda Goodwitch.

Glynda gave them a curt nod, and the family moved to follow.

They crossed numerous hallways. While Dad and Yang only looked forward, Ruby peeked inside each room they'd passed by. Each room held either the moderately wounded forms of civilians, or police officers, but most held either the lifeless or barely-living bodies of White Fang faunus.

The deeper they went, the more the damage to the walls and floors decreased. Where they were, there were no bullet casings on the floor, or holes and swordmarks on the walls. It seemed they were moving to a rare corridor untouched by the ferocious battle.

Glynda stopped, and opened a completely nondescript and undamaged door to her left.

Ruby's breath hitched on her throat.

Uncle Qrow was there on the bed. His skin was beyond pale, white in a deathly pallor. He was undressed, modesty protected only by a blanket covering him from the waist down. He was covered in countless wounds: blunt trauma, lacerations, and bullet holes carved into his flesh.

Qrow Branwen was dead.

Offhandedly, Ruby was aware that her father's aura spiked dangerously, and that Yang had released a wail echoing through the room. Walking slowly on numb legs, she approached the man who taught her almost everything she knew.

He was dead.

He was really, really dead.

From the corner of her eye, she spotted her dad peek under the blanket covering her only uncle's junk, his eyes and expression guarded. What the fu– _fluff,_ dad.

Her hand moved forward, reaching for her uncle, and touching his cheek.

She couldn't believe it.

Uncle Qrow was the strongest person she knew. She'd heard of Mistral's rising star Pyrrha Nikos, and of the Arcs and the Schnee, but whenever she thought of strength, she thought of Qrow.

Qrow could survive for months on nothing but his prodigious wisdom, his unflinching willpower, and the contents of his flask. When he set his eyes on a task, he accomplished it, regardless of its difficulty, regardless of how many times he had to try.

His glorious weapon let him take on anything and everything. With his scythe, he could rip his foes apart to ribbons. With his sword, he could duel and break even bedrock itself. With his gun, he could bring his foes to their knees even at a range, and that was before they moved into his aura control, where he could cut things apart even miles away.

 _Who?_ Ruby's eyes began to tear up. _Who could have done this?_

* * *

Kestrel Winchester sneezed.

Jaune Arc, sitting across him, blinked. "You alright, sir?"

"Yeah," Kestrel sniffed. The boy really wasn't what he thought he'd be.

Back in the Hospital, just minutes after they'd dealt with Qrow, he'd received a call from his men about the presence of an Arc.

He remembered swearing up a storm that would make any decent sailor proud, and any politician weep tears of blood. He'd rallied together his men and set up traps and ambushes for when the first offensive failed. _When_ , not if, the Arc came for them.

 _…_ _In hindsight, that may have been how they let around fifty to sixty Fangs escape the hospital._

The Arcs were undeniably loyal to Ozpin. Just because no one had heard from any of them in weeks didn't mean they weren't watching. One of them must have accompanied Qrow Branwen.

He remembered marching forward carefully, weapon in hand. Each of his fellow Guards radiated tension so thick you _might_ have been able to cut it with a chainsword. He combed his mind for every single piece of relevant information about the Arcs; Alexander, Rouge, Sienna, wherever they went, collateral damage followed.

Eventually, he and two more squads of the Guard surrounded the room the Arc was noted to be in. Whispering a countdown over the channel, he remembered seeing his comrades' grips on their weapons tighten.

He remembered bursting into the room as one and…

"Freeze!" he shouted. "Don't move!"

"Hands in the air!" squad two shouted.

"Get on your hands and knees, bastard!" squad three commanded.

The white-cloaked Arc in front of them blinked, and on instinct, attempted to comply with all three commands. In the end, he had frozen in a squat, a perfect impression of a mime attempting to hump an invisible wall.

Yeah, Jaune Arc wasn't anything like what he expected. If he had to give his own opinion on him, he would say he actually rather liked the kid; knew how to follow orders.

 _Such a shame they had to do this, but hey, better safe than sorry._

The boy Jaune Arc looked at his surroundings with barely concealed wonder. It wasn't surprising, the vehicle they were in looked like a nondescript van from the outside, but on the inside it was packed with more armor than a tank. This van worked wonders for raids and other cloak and dagger bullshit.

Kestrel schooled his face into a well-practiced, most diplomatic smile, masking his suspicion under a veneer of civility.

The boy sitting in front of him was either a threat or an opportunity.

The Huntsman image was always that of a hero. The Huntsmen were noble defenders of the weak, the bulwark against the darkness, and the blade of judgment against evil. Since the days of the Great War, the Councils of the Four Great Kingdoms had sunk much to cultivate that belief for two main reasons.

The first reason was to ensure the supply of Huntsmen they needed to hold the Grimm at bay.

The second was to ensure that the people loved the Huntsmen, even though every single one of them had the potential to wipe out towns and villages on their lonesome.

The Arcs were threats, not because they were powerful, but because they were _popular_. Alexander Arc, his wife Athena, and the Seven Sisters: each of them was the very picture of the perfect warrior. Each of them was, at least in the public eye, a charismatic, good-looking, sexy-ass noble warrior without peer.

It meant that if they rocked the boat too much, the Councils couldn't just engage in a smear campaign painting them as the bastard lovechildren of a Vacuoan and a Boarbatusk, followed by a swift elimination. If they did so, then at best, the Council could expect a Grimm invasion caused by the negativity, and at worst, they could expect a rebellion, _and then the Grimm._

For better or for worse, the Arcs had pledged loyalty to Ozpin. The same Ozpin who unofficially held power over every single Beacon Alumnus and Alumna, a fourth of the total Huntsman population. The same Ozpin who regularly withheld useful intelligence from the Council, and the same Ozpin that used his resources and Huntsmen in clandestine missions instead of defending Valean holdings. This same Ozpin also happened to correspond in secret with the Headmasters of Shade, Atlas, and Haven.

Seriously, fuck that guy.

Yes, the Arc boy (if he really was an Arc) sitting in front of him was a threat… but at the same time, he could be one of the greatest opportunities they've had in a while.

The Arcs always presented a unified front in public, each of them adding their considerable influence into nearly everything they did. However, here sitting in front of him was a chink in that armor.

If he could convince Jaune Arc to keep tabs on Ozpin and his Family, then they could perhaps finally figure out what Ozpin was scheming. If push came to shove, he could already see the ways Riesling could spin the stories. "Young Arc boy blows whistle on traitorous, Vacuoan-aligned Family"; "The noble Arc hero Turns against corrupt Ozpin"; "Alexander Arc beats/abuses/rapes own son: runs to the Council for help."

That is, if Jaune _was_ an Arc.

Aside from the best training and equipment lien could buy, Beacon offered one more priceless advantage; connections. Admission into Beacon itself was almost a guarantee that you were the best of the best after all. Nearly every single famous Valean Huntsman hailed from Beacon. It was in that ancient castle that Kestrel had met Qrow and Raven Branwen, as well as the rest of their team; and it was there too that he had met Alexander Arc.

Jaune turned to his side, asking one of his fellow Guards a question about the computers they'd rigged up. Kestrel's smile slowly turned sharp. He knew the Arcs, and the weapon the boy carried was the real deal. He knew the Arcs, and the boy was the very splitting image of his alleged father and mother.

"No, no," his comrade answered the boy. "You can't play games on them."

…And there was the interesting little detail. The boy was Alexander without the fierce, intimidating undertone of violence in his movements. The boy was Athena without the cold, calculating eyes indicating that she had at least three plans to kill everyone in the building. The boy was his sisters without the smug sense of superiority whispering that you were merely a cog in their grand schemes.

Jaune Arc caught his gaze and grinned.

Either this boy was a guileless, naïve fool; or he was the most dangerous of them all.

Kestrel grinned back. Working as the shadowy hand and the armored fist of the Council had him interact with all sorts of people, all of them liars. He interacted with plenty of people, and by interact, he mostly meant interrogate.

Now, despite what most people would say, torture simply wasn't the best method of obtaining useful intelligence. The PR was horrible, the blood was difficult to wash out, and more often than not, the torturee just screamed whatever you wanted to hear while you were force-feeding them their own entrails.

 _Threat of torture_ , on the other hand, coupled with a friendly, sympathetic face, concessions, and a genuine rapport however, worked _wonders_.

Prey on their fear, or let them think that they were outwitting you. Pretend that you were just someone doing this because it was a job and that you genuinely thought they were in the right. Pretend you already had the information, and just wanted to verify some things. Pretend that you didn't want to have to do this, and your bosses were getting frustrated with you.

It was why he didn't wear a mask, while his comrades did.

Before he spoke, he ran through everything he was able to note about the conundrum that was Jaune Arc.

First, Kestrel Winchester did not know anything about the boy until he had met him just minutes earlier. Either the Arcs were uncharacteristically silent (God knows that Alex would've bragged about finally having a boy), or Jaune Arc was lying.

Second, the boy had mentioned that he was a lousy fighter. Kestrel did not identify that as a lie, but many other details contradicted him. His white cloak was stained with mud and blood, his sword and shield were in good condition, but were covered in nicks and pockmarks, and his clothes looked worn and threadbare. On the other hand, however, Kestrel did not detect him lying, and everything in his posture and actions just _screamed_ of incompetence.

Third was the condition of his weapons. His sword and shield were well-maintained, sure; but they were _old._ The sword failed to transform into a gun, and lacked slots with which to imbue with dust. The shield-sheath was a bafflingly simple construct only capable of collapsing into a single form. The Arcs were capable of churning out stupidly powerful and gimmicky weapons on whims, and here was one of their own (allegedly) wielding the Huntsman equivalent of a pointed stick?

Fourth, and probably the detail that bothered him the most.

Kestrel frowned, despite his ironclad self-control.

The kid wasn't a smug, raving asshole like the rest of his (alleged) jackass family.

The picture was yet unclear. He needed more information, and he needed to acquire it carefully.

"So, Jauney boy," Kestrel smiled. "Rough night eh?"

"Yeah," Jaune Arc scratched his head sheepishly. "Almost makes me wish I just went straight home and slept in."

"Hah, Kestrel chuckled. "What were you doing there anyway, kiddo?"

The boy looked up at him and grinned, completely finding nothing wrong with what was happening. "I came to visit and stay with someone. She was in a bit of an accident earlier today, so I decided to stay over with some friends in case something happened."

 _Truth,_ Kestrel's instincts told him. There were no twitches, no hesitations in his tone, no tells that indicated otherwise.

Kestrel nodded. The boy looked like a Huntsman-in-Training, and this close before the school year, training accidents weren't uncommon. "Shit, kid, what did you do when the White Fang attacked?"

The boy hunched over, as if a deflating balloon. "Yeah… I… kind of tried talking them down, you know, lots of collateral damage and innocents around, but then they well, kinda shot me."

 _Truth._ That, and if it weren't obvious, the holes in his cloak kind of lent credence to that statement.

Kestrel's eyebrows furrowed in concern. Image was pretty damned important. "What did you do then? Did you fight them?"

The boy hunched over further, his posture and countenance leaking fear, nervousness, and disappointment in equal measure. He opened his mouth to speak, then changed his mind and closed it; averting his gaze and refusing to meet his eyes.

Kestrel leaned forward, eyes widening just right, radiating concern.

Eventually, after seconds of the concerned benevolent superior look, Jaune mumbled something under his breath.

Kestrel let his face drop. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear. What did you say?"

"I…" Jaune stutter-stammered. "Hid in a locker."

 _Truth._

 _…_ _Seriously?_

Kestrel took in the Arc's form. The boy was obviously scared, and radiated _guilt._

Kestrel took in the boy's body language, and began forming a model.

 _Powerlessness_. Slowly, he tried putting himself in the boy's shoes. It wasn't too difficult; he was once a boy from a prestigious Huntsman Clan as well. They'd heard nothing about a male Arc. As far as they knew, the only children Alexander and Athena had were daughters, nothing about a son. Disowned? A disappointment? A secret?

An Arc that couldn't fight. A powerless, weak disappointment to the Family, hidden for… his own protection? Because he shamed his parents and sisters?

A weak Huntsman-in-Training, disliked by his famous family. Where his peers would be able to fight off the Fang on their own, he instead hid in a locker like a weakling. The boy in front of him radiated some sort of guilt, some sort of aching amount of _shame_.

 _Excellent._

Pushing him further would only serve to drive him into a shell. No, this boy was a potential opportunity, and such opportunities were meant to be moulded so they could become useful. Kestrel decided to temporarily halt that line of questioning.

Still, he had just one last suspicion. One little detail he really wanted to know, just to be safe.

"Tell me," Kestrel's indigo eyes bored into Jaune's. He was being unsubtle, but… _eh, fuck it._ "Have you ever met Qrow Branwen?"

Jaune blinked. "Nope."

 _Truth._

Welp.

Kestrel's mind ran like a Vacuoan ran from responsibility and accountability. An Arc boy, Huntsman-in-Training, carrying old, obsolete weapons his Family wouldn't likely care about, running around in shabby clothes, and by his own admission couldn't fight well.

He just needed one more detail to complete the picture, subtlety be damned.

His features softened, the most paternal he could make them. "You ran away from home, didn't you?"

Jaune Arc completely hunched over, nervous and helpless, and nodded.

 _Truth._

Jackpot.

He closed his eyes and finalized his hypothetical model.

Jaune Arc, was born the only son in a family of famous heroes and unmatched warriors. Weaned on tales and legends of past and present glories, Jaune Arc no doubt, like nearly every boy his age, wanted to be a Huntsman. With his glorious history in mind, he set lofty goals for himself, trained, fell short and disappointed his family. Either in shame, or misguided affection, his family withheld him from preliminary combat schools, and likely tried to shuffle him off into a quiet, peaceful life of obscurity.

Kestrel nodded in genuine sympathy.

Jaune Arc ran away from home, going to Vale, most likely Beacon, to seek his fortune. Beacon, despite being under Ozpin, was still the premier combat school in Sanas, and it was only days before initiation. He found friends and was likely staying with them until the school year started, most likely fellow huntsmen-in-training as well. Insecure about his skills, he practiced with them, and someone ended up injured, requiring hospitalization.

Kestrel opened his eyes, taking in the sight of a nervous, guilty, yet battle-weary teenager. Details started clicking into place. He'd need to verify, but he'd heard separate accounts from VPD Commissioner Gordon that Jaune had gone to Alchemilla with a wounded girl. He'd also heard from her that a red-haired huntress-in-training was inquiring about Jaune's welfare.

Like pieces of a jigsaw, everything fit into place.

Jaune admitted his friend to the hospital. The White Fang attacked from out of the blue; to garner attention and show off their strength, perhaps? While his huntress friend fought, Jaune Arc was… overcome with fear, or easily defeated, or perhaps believed he didn't stand a chance? Regardless, he took refuge in a locker, and waited out the storm.

It fit the model. A weak Arc, estranged from the rest of his family; self-esteem issues bubbling out like termites from the woodwork; desperate for validation and approval; ran away from his home to go to Beacon.

He nodded his head, and schooled his face into that of a doting father. Image wasn't everything, but it came pretty damn close. He'd long cultivated his image into that of a typical dumb but trustworthy barbarian stereotype, from the unkempt red beard and hair, and the bulk. He looked like the exact kind of person you'd expect to be brash, blunt, friendly, and completely unable to keep secrets.

"Hey," he reached out and squeezed the boy on the shoulder. "It's alright, we all have those bad days."

Jaune Arc blinked out of his stupor, "Bad days?"

"Yeah," Kestrel smiled reassuringly. "Even the best Huntsmen screw up every now and then. For huntsmen-in-training, freezing up in your first battle is practically a rite of passage. As for what happened back there in the hospital, well, don't worry, you're not in trouble. It's not your fault."

Jaune's guilt came back full force. "B-but I –"

The spiral of self-doubt and self-blame? Really? Kestrel resisted the urge to sigh. The last thing they needed was for him to break down in teenage angst and blame themselves for nonexistent crimes.

"You listen here, son," Kestrel rumbled, hand clapping the boy's shoulder. "Tell me, who was it exactly that attacked the hospital?"

"The White Fang. But–"

"Correct," Kestrel interrupted, unwilling to have him spiral into self-defeat. "And who is responsible for Vale's protection?"

"Ozpin, but sir, you don't understand, I let –"

"Right," Kestrel barked, letting some of his frustration color his voice. "And then you tell me, who else was already stationed in the hospital and failed to stop the Fang's advance?"

"The Vale Police? Wait, sir, really, I'm trying to –"

Kestrel's hand squeezed his shoulder hard. "Finally, _whose fault was it_ , exactly _, that the Fangs were able to escape?"_

Jaune paled.

Of course he wouldn't tell him the answer. The culprit was sitting in this very vehicle, after all…

"The one responsible for letting those _faunus scum go_ _ **…"**_

Jaune paled further, and tried to put as much distance between them as much as possible.

Kestrel looked him in the eye and finished.

 _"_ _Was me."_

Jaune blinked.

" _I_ was the one ultimately responsible for letting the Fang escape, boy," Kestrel rumbled. " _I_ was in command of the Seventh Conciliar Guard. _I_ tried my best, but _I_ couldn't beat Adam Taurus and his goons."

He pointed a finger at himself and spoke. "Because _I_ couldn't beat Adam Taurus fast enough, the Fangs in the hospital were able to slip away in the crossfire. Because _I_ didn't have enough men, we couldn't bring Taurus and his men down; and they got away."

He folded his hands together and looked the kid in the eye. "Now, Jauney boy, tell me whose fault it was."

Jaune looked like he was about to rip out his hair. "I'm trying to tell you, _I let the –"_

"No!" interjected Kestrel. "You listen to what I have to tell _you._ Did you think you were the only one whose actions mattered on the field?"

Jaune gaped dumbly, like he had no idea where the conversation was going. Kestrel took initiative. See, that was the thing with teenage huntsmen-in-training; give them aura, give them a taste for battle, then they think they can take on the world. It was best to try, keyword being try, to knock that nonsense out of his head while it was early.

For all the emphasis on individuality and self-determination, Huntsmen fought in fours.

Kestrel raised a finger. "If the Vale Police Department was able to notice, what, a hundred or so White Fang faunus, the Fang'd never have gotten that far." Kestrel raised another finger. "If Ozpin was actually doing his job, the Fang should've been smacked into the ground as soon as they set foot in the building."

Kestrel beat his chest. "If I'd managed to beat Adam Taurus, then we would've more or less stopped Fang influence in Vale, except I couldn't."

Jaune's mouth was flapping open, but no words were coming out.

"I know what you did," Kestrel declared.

Jaune flinched.

Kestrel's glare intensified, and the air became thick with tension. "Nothing will excuse you from what you just pulled, Arc."

Jaune shrank back.

Kestrel reached out, a strong, bloody right hand going for Jaune's head and...

... and ruffled his hair.

"But you tried," Kestrel's expression softened. "And for what it's worth, I'm sure that a couple of people owe you their lives."

Jaune blinked, and from the realization setting in his eyes, Kestrel knew he was right.

The boy had tried to fight, to protect, before backing down.

Slightly less pathetic than his previous analysis, but hey, it meant he wasn't a total pushover.

Jaune's head bowed low. "Thank you, sir." he whispered.

"Heh, at your age, shit like that can't be helped," Kestrel snorted. "What happened tonight was the product of circumstance, bad luck, and a hell of a lot of fucking up. We can ask ourselves questions like, what if the White Fang weren't assholes? If I weren't outnumbered by Adam, would I have been able to beat him? If we had even ten more minutes to react, would we have been able to win?"

Kestrel's indigo eyes met Jaune's sky-blue, and this time, they didn't break away.

"Muse over what-ifs as much as you want," Kestrel declared. "But you need to keep moving forward, even if you gotta crawl, you got it, boy?"

"Keep moving forward," slowly, Jaune began to smile. "Yeah."

On a whim, Kestrel put out his fist. "You promise?"

Jaune stopped, and slowly bumped the fist with his own.

"I promise," Jaune grinned, his posture relaxing, his nervousness abating.

Kestrel chuckled, and leaned back into his seat.

 _Success._

Riesling was gonna love this.

* * *

Taiyang Xiao Long followed Glynda to a back room.

Catching up with her, Taiyang grabbed her shoulder. "What's the meaning of this? What charade are you and Ozpin plotting?"

Glynda's eyes, intelligent and sharp, narrowed behind her elegant glasses.

"Don't play dumb with me," Taiyang snarled. "That body back there? It's a pretty damn good fake, but it's not Qrow. _It's not him!_ "

"We never exactly said it was," Ozpin sipped from his mug. "We simply presented you a body and gave you some privacy. We didn't exactly _say_ anything."

Tai grit his teeth and clenched his fists tight.

Glynda raised a delicate eyebrow. "Whoever was responsible for this went through the trouble of fabricating a believable likeness of Qrow Branwen's body. It's managed to fool most of our tests, how did you find out it was a fake?"

Taiyang pointed a finger at where the fake was. "I checked under the covers! That fake's dick was bigger than my thumbnail, _it couldn't have been Qrow, his was tiny!"_

Glynda's hands went to massage her temples. Ozpin, on the other hand, nodded sagely.

"Indeed," Ozpin sipped from his mug. "I've had my suspicions, but your words confirm them."

Glynda continued rubbing the sides of her face. "Not that I don't believe you, and… I'm going to regret asking this, but _how?"_

Ozpin's eyes grew sharp. "I smelled the corpse. Unlike Qrow, this body was actually somewhat clean, not caked in a month's worth of grime and filth."

Taiyang nodded in acknowledgment. "And you, Glynda?"

Glynda grunted, then unceremoniously dumped a folder onto the nearby table. "Medical records. I grew suspicious when the body apparently had a functioning liver."

The room grew quiet in contemplative silence, and then Tai chuckled, the corners of his lips curling upwards. "Someone was sloppy."

"Semblances capable of altering flesh are… uncommon, but not unheard of," Glynda spoke, voice even. "The technology capable of doing so, however, is also uncommon, and narrows down our list of suspects."

"Atlesian technology." Taiyang rubbed his chin. "So the White Fang manages to nab itself someone with that Semblance, or a piece of Atlesian tech, captures and kidnaps Qrow?"

"Unlikely," Glynda straightened out her glasses. "Adam Taurus was repulsed by the Guard when he had attempted to enter the hospital. We'd have known if the Fang had someone of that calibre."

Taiyang narrowed his eyes. "So that leaves… who? The VPD? The Conciliar Guard?"

"Serious allegations," Glynda's voice was dry. "The former, probably not. The latter, however…"

"We keep our options open," Ozpin interjected, taking another sip from his nigh-unlimited mug. "The reason I have called you here, however, is to bring to your attention the possibility of yet another party."

Tai raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Without much further ado, Ozpin brought out his scroll. Glynda and Taiyang mimicked him, bringing out theirs as well.

With but a few buttons, a grainy image appeared on the screens.

Taiyang blinked, before comprehending the video before him. These were the hospital's camera feeds!

"The feeds are choppy, and the video seems to skip certain parts." Glynda frowned.

"That's because that was all they were able to recover," Ozpin replied, somehow managing to drink from his mug, hold his scroll, and scratch his ear with one hand. "The camera feeds had been either wiped or damaged in the battle."

Tai frowned, and then sped his feed up, skipping most of the day's routine minutiae. Janitor cleaning the hallways, noisy kid, someone was drinking from the hand sanitizer dispensers on the walls, that nurse was rolling up a joint…

Taiyang paused. There on the slick image of his scroll, he could see squads of wary White Fang enter the building. The screen flickered, and the next thing he saw was Qrow Branwen power-walking through the hallways humming something about big butts and his inability to lie. The screen flickered again, and he beheld Qrow Branwen as the man stepped on a defeated Fang, pulled down his pants, and took a piss on him.

The screen flickered once more, and Taiyang dropped his scroll.

"That's coming out of your paycheck," Glynda grumbled.

Taiyang sputtered, "I don't even work at Beacon! I work at –"

Glynda rolled her eyes.

"Right, Ozpin controls Signal by proxy," Taiyang shook Glynda's shoulders. "But enough about that, _here!_ Check camera 39 at 11:46."

Glynda sighed and did so.

Her eyes widened in uncharacteristic shock.

Ozpin had long abandoned watching the feeds, instead, the telltale image of cat videos reflected off his glasses as he sipped his mug and chuckled to himself.

Glynda snarled, and with a wave of her riding crop, Ozpin's scroll went back to the hospital camera feeds.

The mewling and playing kittens on Ozpin's scroll switched to the dull grey monochromes of the hospital-turned battlefield. Ozpin sighed.

Taiyang and Glynda's eyes strained on the tiny screen of Ozpin's scroll. The time went 11:44… 11:45…. _There!_

The camera feeds shifted again, at first, there was Qrow Branwen valiantly fighting White Fang faunus. Though he was outnumbered by at least thirty to one, the smile on his face never wavered, and his sword flashed left and right as if it were weightless.

The feed flickered again. Qrow Branwen crashed through a wall, and as he stumbled, the Fangs pumped him full of dust and lead. Another flicker, and he was trading blows with a White Fang Lieutenant. Every time the screen flickered, Qrow had become more and more bloody, and the expression on his face shifted from calm to ill-concealed desperation.

The screen flickered once more, and Glynda paused the video.

There, standing over the defeated form of Qrow Branwen, was a very familiar figure in a white cloak.

Taiyang froze, sweat dripping from cold and clammy hands. He knew those perfect, child-bearing hips. He had once seen those hips naked. He had once seen those hips fucking deliver his second daughter!

"Summer?" he murmured.

 _"_ _Mom..?"_ came a small, tiny voice from the corner of the room.

Glynda and Taiyang looked up into familiar silver eyes. Ruby Rose, her entire form oozing with shock and desperate hope, took nervous steps towards them, unconsciously pulling her red cloak over herself.

"…Doesn't anyone lock doors or knock anymore?" Ozpin muttered, taking another sip of his mug.

"…Dad, is this…?" Ruby Rose stuttered. "I-Is Mom really..?"

Taiyang met Glynda's gaze, nodded, and then slowly took the scroll and showed her the image.

Ozpin leaned over to Glynda, pointed a finger at Ruby, and whispered. "This kid looks familiar somehow, do we know her?"

Glynda elbowed him in the gut. "You invited her to Beacon!" she hissed.

The video resumed playing.

Ruby's eyes widened even further, tears pooling in those silver, moonlike orbs. Her hands flew to her mouth, and her bottom lip quivered. With terrified steps, she inched closer, and with shaking hands, she took the scroll from her father.

Swipes of her finger shifted the view on the screen. Cameras 39, 40, 36, and 37 all painted the verification she needed.

Elegant features covered under a white hood. Skinny legs on perfect hips, hugged comfortably tight by straight cut jeans. The familiar billowing of a snow white cloak on shoulders just a little wider than average…

Ruby's knees buckled over, and with a shaking hand, quivering lip, and wet eyes, she reached for the scroll.

As she did so, the blurry but unmistakable image of Summer Rose drew a shining sword on Qrow, before the feed cut off into dark oblivion.

* * *

Winter Schnee drew her shining sword on the _filthy animal._

The beast, _the inhuman sack of flesh_ looked back at her. Incomprehension dulled its leathery features, the signs of its _inhumanity_ jutting from out of its head in the form of two monstrous horns.

There was no doubt about it, Winter Schnee was looking into the eyes of a killer, _of a monster._

"Umm, Specialist Schnee?" quickly spoke a light voice behind her. The voice belonged to Ciel Soleil, if Winter remembered correctly. Potential was found in the young huntress-in-training, and she had been assigned to her for this no doubt colossal task.

"Speak, Soleil," Winter barked out, not breaking eye contact with the inhuman murderer in front of her.

"Specialist Schnee?" Ciel Soleil spoke. "Why are you threatening that cow?"

 _"_ _Moooo,"_ came the response from in front of her.

Winter bared her teeth, and moved her cold blade closer to the _horned, inhuman_ dull features of the grazing cow. Behind said cow, faunus and human farmers cowered, surrounded by her very armed, very intimidating, and _very reluctant_ Atlesian soldiers.

The cow merely stared back fearlessly, continuing to mindlessly chew its cud, the bastard.

"Beware!" Winter called out. "Cows are responsible for more deaths each year than _sharks!_ And who knows what other sorts of vile debaucheries Jaune Arc did with the goats!"

Ciel Soleil blinked very slowly.

Before Winter could further answer her erstwhile assistant Ciel Soleil, the scroll tucked into her hip vibrated. Without moving the sword away from the cow's bovine face, Winter's hand raised the scroll to her ear.

"Specialist Schnee," rumbled the clipped, stentorian, _irritated_ tones of General James Ironwood. _"_ _What do you think you're doing?"_

Even from where she stood, countless miles away from the comforting white of solemn Atlas, Winter felt his commanding presence. She nodded her head, and began to speak.

"General Ironwood, sir," Winter stood, her posture perfect, her hand on her sword. "Per your orders, I am investigating possible leads on the White Fang."

"Those are my orders, yes," Ironwood spoke through gritted teeth. "So tell me, why exactly am I receiving reports of you _threatening and harassing cow farmers in the frontiers of Vale?"_

Truly, Jaune Arc was a masterful and clever foe, masking his ploys under the most inconspicuous facades; but Winter knew she could read his movements like a book.

With cold logic and unwavering dedication, would Winter Schnee explain her seemingly erratic actions.

"This isn't what it looks like, sir."

 _Nailed it._

Over the scroll, she could hear Ironwood's grip crack something hard.

Winter was quick to follow up. "Sir, as you know, we've started a crackdown on the White Fang and its resources. As we did so, I had identified several warehouses and vehicle fleets affiliated with the Fang and set them aside not to be touched or pursued for monitoring purposes."

Ironwood grunted, and she went on.

"Little after the incident at Camp Omega, this ploy had borne fruit," Winter's voice had grown an undertone of smugness. "Identified White Fang bank accounts had recently transferred large amounts of money on purchases, said purchases were stored for short periods of time in their warehouses, and were transferred on said fleets."

Banking Confidentiality… _in Atlas?_ That was the funniest thing she'd heard in a while.

"General Ironwood," Winter declared. "I have followed Jaune Arc into what I believe is a hidden White Fang base."

Ironwood was silent, before suddenly speaking. "And what _exactly_ did these… White Fang affiliated accounts buy, then transport? Dust? Duststeel? Weapons?"

Winter blinked. "Farming implements, tools, seeds, and livestock."

"In paper or are they _actual_ farming tools and livestock?"

 _"_ _Moooo!"_ the cow in front of Winter went moo, conveniently answering his query.

Ironwood's voice became more dangerous _precisely_ because it was more calm and level. "So… let me get this straight. You believe that Jaune Arc, the human who convinced the Fang to obey him, the human who butchered half of the Omega garrison and convinced the other half to join him, had nothing better to do than to support a farm. You believe that Adam Taurus, the White Fang Commander based in Vale, the murderer that slaughters entire villages for even the most minor cases of faunus discrimination, the man who attacks _hospitals_ and probably orphanages… donated a set of farming equipment to some random no-name village in the frontiers."

Huh, when he put it that way…

Ironwood's voice was level, calm, and _utterly horrifying_. "What is the name of the account that made these purchases?"

Winter blinked again.

At Winter's silence, Ironwood spoke. "The name and owner of that account is the Happy Bull Charity Organization."

Winter began to grit her teeth.

"The Happy Bull has been active for _years._ Their records show that this isn't the first donation they've made."

 _How far ahead did Jaune Arc's fell machinations go?!_

"But, sir!" Winter protested. "I can't leave, not until I find out what Jaune Arc plans to do with these barnyard animals!"

Ironwood's voice was steady, every word a promise of pain. "You will apologize, then you will leave without a word. Do you understand me, Specialist- _in-Probation_ Schnee?"

Winter swallowed. "Yes sir."

"Good," Ironwood sighed. "Now, I have a task for you. You and your men are one of the closest units nearby, and I need a very specific convoy intercepted."

Winter's eyes narrowed, her fingers tightening on her sword. "Is it the White Fang, sir? Is it Jaune Arc?"

Ironwood paused. Actually _paused._ "Perhaps it is related. Perhaps it is not. We shall see."

Winter blinked again. General Ironwood was unsure of something? _Impossible._

"As you know," Ironwood spoke. "Since the Camp Omega Incident, we've begun a crackdown and hunt for the White Fang. Alongside that campaign, we've also covertly begun investigations into the Fang's connection with the Arc Family, Ozpin, and the Kingdom of Vale."

Weiss was in Vale. Dread crept up Winter's nerves before she clenched her fist and crushed it. Weiss was in Vale, and if they found that Ozpin and Vale were using the Fang as a proxy against Atlesian interests…

"Long story short," Ironwood rumbled. "We found something."

Winter's hands were as cold as the ice she called forth.

"It was subtle." Ironwood actually sounded angry, _angry._ "It was in the tiniest of accounting and clerical errors, and the most nonthreatening of miscommunications. It was in the eerie but ignored timing of retirements and transfers. It was in those strange coincidences and joint-training sessions, but upon investigation, we found something _and it's been going on for years."_

Winter's aura began to flare. The temperature in the entire region began to drop.

"We now have sufficient reason to suspect," Ironwood breathed. "That Rouge Arc has been siphoning money, dust, and weapons from the Atlas Military; stockpiling enough to form a small army, somewhere east of Vacuo, and west of Vale."

* * *

The farmers of Balmore wanted to fall on their knees and cry in relief when the Atlesians boarded their ships and left.

Once, they were slaves. Once, they were refugees. Now, they were happy.

Memories of Camp Omega were still in fresh in their lives. The older faunus among them sometimes woke in the dead of night, stinging from the nightmarish cold, and reeling from the overpowering stench of pure, unrefined dust.

Every single day in these bright, golden fields was a reminder that that dark blemish upon their lives was over. Occasional visits from knights clad in shining armor and white cloaks were reminders that they would never find themselves alone ever again.

After Omega, they were ushered into the empty husks and frames of a dead city; Mountain Glenn. There, amongst their brethren, they had found refuge and sanctuary. The scars of the Camp slowly gave way to fresh, soft skin once again, and emaciated frames once again grew meat.

One by one, group by group, family by family, the White Fang had been able to slowly launder funds and build futures for them. Three weeks passed, and these people who were once slaves had found themselves citizens of a town that only wanted peace.

It wasn't a rich life, but to them it may as well have been heaven.

The townspeople, naturally, were at first wary. One day they were out in the fields, and then in the next month there were more faunus than humans.

Of course there was tension, of course there was suspicion, _of course there was fear._

And of course, there was the Grimm.

The Grimm had come, under cover of night, and slowly slipped past the town's watchers. As human slept and faunus snored, packs of Beowolves had converged unseen into the heart of the town.

People awoke to screams and blood; to gunfire and steel.

The town defenders wouldn't be enough, would never be enough, and there were no doubts in anyone's mind that had not things happened as they had; Balmore would be another empty husk, another eaten skeleton of a civilization.

When battle broke out, masked, visored knights in armor and cloaks as white as snow leaped out from the night sky.

The Fang… The _New_ Fang, it appeared, was not content to provide them a glimpse, a flash of hope and fire, then leave them alone. No, for as long as it was necessary, they would tend to the flames, and keep them lit as beacons against the dark.

By daybreak, the battle had ended, and where the knights held swords, they now wielded hammers and tools. They were bad at it, but they tried to repair the damage as best they could.

Everyone strode out, tools in hand: they who were once slaves, the people of Balmore, and the knights of the New Fang. With hammer and nail, blood and sweat, stubbed fingers and a lot of splinters, was the town rebuilt.

All it took to wipe away tensions between human and faunus was to pit everyone in a battle for survival against endless nightmares from the darkness that ate your fear. Who knew?

There was still fear, there was still suspicion, but slowly, those things were slowly fading away, as dust in the wind.

The Schnee and her Atlesians boarded their ships.

The farmers left as well.

Heading into the high grass and the forests, they shouted a single word.

 _"_ _Clear!"_

From under the rivers, from over the trees, from the shadows of the grass, the white-cloaked soldiers of the New Fang emerged.

Their captain raised his hands to his helmet, and pulled it off, revealing a stony face that everyone from Omega recognized and remembered.

"Can't believe Winter Schnee almost found us," spoke the captain Gaston Alabaster. _"_ _Is anyone hurt?"_

High above, hung proudly in the town square was a simple banner. Prancing upon a field of white, was a magnificent golden beast, two twin crescent moons crowning its head as if they were horns or antlers.

The villagers smiled every time their eyes laid upon it. They were told, jokingly, that it was a horse, but they knew better.

It was the banner of hope, the flag of freedom, and the crest of Jaune Arc himself.

Woven in cheap, simple cloth, on a white field, was the simple, golden shape of a donkey.

* * *

 **Chapter 17 End…** _ **eh?**_

* * *

Miltiades Malachite and Melanie Malachite snuck to the backdoor of The Club.

Someone was knocking on the door.

Hei Xiong Junior had gone out, the only ones inside the freshly-renovated building were themselves and Penny, and just earlier, they had assisted Jaune Arc murder one of Vale's greatest Huntsmen.

They weren't fools. They knew Junior practically knew everything, but Ozpin knew more. Miltia bit her lip, their arrangement with a certain woman was looking to be less of the bargain it seemed to be and more of a death sentence now.

Miltia checked her claws, Melanie tapped her foot several times on the floor. Both sets of weapons had just been freshly sharpened, and just begging to be used.

Should push come to shove, they still had options. Depending on who was at their door, they still had things to offer; valuable information regarding the Valean underworld, Junior's stockpiles of cash hidden in the Club, and... as much as they hated to admit it, even Penny was on the table.

They were survivors, if it meant another day of life, they'd probably do anything.

Well, except for turning in Jaune, that way lay death by a very specific blinged-out sword.

If they were going down, they were going down swinging.

"Like, still nothing on Jaune and Junior?" Melanie whispered.

"No," Miltia replied in clipped tones. "No one's picking up."

Melanie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Seconds later, Miltia did the same.

The door knocked again, hard.

Melanie slunk into the shadows. Miltia walked up to the door, hands behind her back demurely, fingers primed to extend her claws.

It was with two cold, clammy hands that Miltia opened the door.

Was it going to be one of Ozpin's Huntsmen? An Atlesian operative, perhaps? Adam Taurus's band of bloodthirsty Fangs? VPD?

It turned out, Miltia and Melanie would encounter neither of those that night.

 _"_ _Neeeeigh,"_ spoke Albus the Horse.

Miltia blinked.

The horse neighed again, a tad irritated.

Melanie crept up behind her sister and blinked as well.

The horse shook its head, exasperatedly. With an annoyed snort, Albus lifted one of his front legs... there was something hanging off of it.

The twins blinked once more, in unison.

Clutched inexplicably in its hoof, the horse was holding a number of smoking plastic bags. Miltia unconsciously sniffed, and the smoke smelled delicious. With hushed tones, Melanie pointed out the restaurant logo imprinted on the bags.

This was the Mistralian food they'd ordered half an hour ago.

Albus the Horse snorted again, and despite the barrier between species, the horse managed to sound smug as fuck.

Tossing the bags to Melanie, who reflexively caught them, the horse sauntered into The Club like he owned it. With a jeering whinny, the horse picked out a couch, and dove into the creaking piece of furniture.

Melanie blinked.

Miltia blinked.

Melanie looked at the food. Everything seemed to be in order; the noodles were there, the fried rice was steaming hot, and the other viands smelled mouthwateringly delicious.

Miltia peered over. Something was wrong. Sure, all the food was there, but looking at the receipt and the bags itself, there appeared to be something extra.

Oh!

There, by the containers of soup, was a thermos filled with hot jasmine tea.

* * *

 **Chapter 17 End.**


	19. Chapter 18: Prelude to Ruin

**AN1:… I swear guys, I was only planning to write like 5-8k words…**

 **AN2: Party Time.**

* * *

Jaune Arc blinked.

He looked at the grand dining room of the Arc Manor. Everything was in place. Streamers and colorful decor were hanging from above. Golden light shone through the clean windows. Pizza, and spaghetti, and candy and all other sorts of greasy and yummy food were littering the fine pine of the table. Party hats were placed by the seats, just waiting... _waiting_ for someone to wear them.

 _So where was everybody?_

His birthday cake rested in the center of the spread, cooling slowly. The wax candles were cool, never to be lit.

Jaune blinked, and padded over to the hallway. He stared up at the clock hanging up on the wall.

The short hand was slightly past six, and the long hand was touching four.

Six-twenty.

Scrunching his face up in thought, Jaune did the math.

His birthday party was supposed to have started two hours ago.

Jaune blinked again, an uncomfortable rumble in his chest. _Where was everybody?_ His classmates had promised to come. Emily, that nice girl from the nearby farm promised to come. Beryl from the other section had asked if she could bring her brother. Lucille had wanted to see the house.

Where was everybody?

As Jaune stared up into the clock, the heavy doors of the Arc Manor began creaking open.

Jaune's ears perked up.

 _They came!_

Jaune _knew_ they would.

With the small legs of a child, began running to greet his guest.

He turned the corridor, and beamed his best smile and...

The grand doors creaked open, and the weary frame of Big Sister Rouge Arc trudged in. She was even wearing a nice dress instead of the baggy soldier pants she always wore.

Her golden hair was messy, and her face looked tired, even as her cerulean blue eyes met her brother's.

Jaune's mouth opened, but no sound came out. He tried again.

"They're not coming, aren't they?"

Her crestfallen expression told him everything he needed to know.

"I'm going to burn down your school," muttered the girl who would be Rouge the Firebrand.

Jaune tried to laugh at her joke. It was a joke, right? Mom always told him to try and smile and laugh, especially when other people were trying to cheer you up. She said that if you always looked at the brighter sides of life and smiled, you would always end up feeling better.

 _... So what was this shaking feeling in his chest?_

Rouge knelt down and wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace.

Jaune's shoulders weren't shaking this time, but he couldn't bring his arms back up to hug his sister.

No. No, that wouldn't do.

He had to apologize to Rouge. She helped him prepare the food and the party, and because he asked, she even wore a dress instead of her soldier clothes. He had to apologize for wasting her vacation time for nothing.

He tried to apologize, but as soon as he opened his mouth, he sobbed on her shoulder.

"It's alright," whispered Rouge. One of her hands rubbed soothing circles on his back. "It's okay."

Jaune buried his face into her neck. Rouge was warm, and she smelled like... like sweet smoke, like burning pine on a cold, rainy night.

Rouge smelled like home.

The doors opened.

Though tears ran down his cheeks and his vision blurred, he could spot the wide-eyed, startled expression of Sienna Arc. His sister stumbled into the room, bags on her back and still dressed in chocolate brown travel clothes. She was supposed to arrive here from Vacuo tomorrow. Did she go home early? Tucked under her arm was a simple ribbon-wrapped present.

Sienna's eyes darted all across the room, stopping at the empty seats; the untouched spread of food; and her brother, bawling in her sister's arms. With hushed movements, she set down her bag, and pressed her body onto her two siblings.

"We burning down his school?"

"We burning down his school."

Minutes, and seconds ticked away, and the door creaked and creaked. Two sets of Atlesian boots slapped on the doorstep, and the bodies of the twins Indigo and Viola joined the huddle. The door opened gracefully, and within stepped the sandaled, heeled feet of Sapphire Arc. Saphy stifled a gasp, and kicking off her shoes, ran to join the hug. Viridian Arc did the same, trailing mud and dirt all over the polished floorboards.

None of his sisters were supposed to arrive that day. They had all come in advance to surprise him.

Jaune stopped crying.

One by one, his sisters rose, parting from the groupiest of group hugs, and walking over to the table. The cheap paper hats were poor fits for their heads, but they put them on all the same. They took their customary seats, and Jaune wondered why he ever wanted anyone else in their chairs.

The door opened one last time that day, and in strode the white-cloaked form of Bianca Arc.

She was welcomed by a shyly smiling brother and six grinning sisters, blue eyes shining and golden hair bobbing, all waving at her, inviting her in to join them in their meal.

Bianca Arc merely yawned, helped herself to a piece of Jaune's untouched cake, and went up to her room.

Jaune sobbed.

"Bitch," Rouge snarled.

"Asshole," agreed Viri.

"Vacuoan," cursed Saphy.

"Saphy," Sienna admonished. "Language."

Rouge stood once again behind Jaune, her hands on his shoulders.

"Don't worry, Jauney," Rouge smiled, and though night had come, her smile was like the sun. "It'll be okay. We're with you."

 _A hand squeezed his shoulder reassuringly._

"Alright everyone, pay up," Sienna held out her hands, and began walking around the table. Each of his sisters, except for Bianca, brought him gifts.

"Brother," Viri nodded her head, her hair appearing to move and writhe like it was alive. She snapped her fingers and one of the potted plants in the hall had begun shaking. Like a blooming flower, the plant's onionlike layers seemed to open up, revealing a small, wrapped present at its heart.

"Oho," Saphy chuckled. "Are we putting on a show for our celebrant, then?" She withdrew her gift, a small box the size of a book and rested it on the table. Lifting a glass, she slowly poured its contents on the table. The spilled water shifted and twisted into shapes of maidens and horses, and began dragging her present to Sienna.

"Meh," Indigo pointed a finger, and her gift floated out from the pocket of her Atlesian coat. The box swayed unsteadily, but levitated all the way to Sienna's pile.

All the gifts laid out, their eyes turned to Viola.

"… I hate you all," Viola stood up, went to her coat, withdrew her gift ( _with her hands like some sort of Vacuoan pleb)_ , and pushed it to a grinning Sienna, before retaking her seat.

"Tis alright, sister," Saphy wore a smug, catlike smirk on her lips. "Not all of us after all can… _what do you do again_ , sense aura around the block. Surely that must strike fear into the hearts of your enemies."

"My sword is bigger than yours!" Viola challenged, calling forth the ancient, unwritten laws of Arc supremacy.

"It's not about the size," Indigo waggled her eyebrows. "It's about how you use it."

Sienna turned to Viri. "Leech her."

Viridian threw a leech at Indigo.

As his sisters began to draw swords on each other, Jaune felt his lips curling up into a smile.

 _A hand squeezed his shoulder reassuringly._

Viola had bent Saphy over the table and began bashing her face into the chicken, striking the back of her head with the pommel of her blade.

 _A hand squeezed his shoulder reassuringly._

Indigo tripped. Sienna sat on her. Their battle was over.

 _A hand squeezed his shoulder reassuringly._

A monstrous plant, some sort of eldritch cross between a vine, a leech, and a tentacle tapped Jaune's side. When Jaune turned to look, the tentacle-plant held a bucket of popcorn in its grasp. Jaune looked up to Viri, and she winked.

 _A hand squeezed his shoulder reassuringly._

None of his friends came, but that was fine.

Jaune knew his sisters were super busy, but they all still took the time to surprise him for his birthday. He knew they were tired to the bone from work and travel and fighting, but all of them still took the effort to show off and amuse him.

He looked at his sisters, each of them, huntresses and heroines all by their own hands and deeds.

 _I want to be a hero._

Jaune couldn't help but smile.

The night was cold, and the stars were hidden. Outside the warm halls of the Manor, everything was shrouded in darkness. The future was uncertain, and mom and dad weren't home yet, but for the moment, Jaune was happy.

He looked up to Rouge, and his eldest sister smiled like a roaring flame.

Jaune wished that night would never end.

 _A hand squeezed his shoulder reassuringly._

 _A hand squeezed his shoulder again._

 _A hand squeezed his shoulder, rougher this time._

* * *

Jaune's eyes shot open.

A hand shook his shoulder, not quite gently, not quite harshly.

He wasn't that small child back then anymore. Instead of the soft cotton shirts and shorts, he was clad in white duststeel plate, his sword sheathed into his shield on his hip. He yawned, fresh tears relieving dry eyes.

He was no longer within the warm, firelit, wood and stone halls of the Arc Manor, but rather, he was in a comfortable leather seat in an armored car. The smell of pine, grass, and mud no longer tickled his nostrils, but instead it was the charged smell of ozone and rain. He was no longer in the presence of fair faces framed by blonde hair, but in the presence of a large, armored man with an auburn mane and auburn beard.

Kestrel Winchester squeezed his shoulder.

Jaune looked out, and before him were the granite walls, marble floors, and crystal spires of the Valean Council Citadel. Despite the ominous rain and, thunder, and darkness, the castle itself, like Beacon, shone a steady and resolute emerald.

That one morning, he had gone out for a stroll, and that night he had found himself in the heart of Vale, the center of Valean power.

Thunder clapped above him, and for a brief, fleeting moment, the world was painted in stark white.

Jaune unconsciously pulled his white cloak closer around himself.

This was gonna suck.

"So, Jauney-boy," Kestrel rumbled. "Destiny awaits."

* * *

 **Arc of the Revolution**

 **Chapter 18**

 **Prelude to Ruin**

 **Alternative Title: People Talk**

* * *

 **Noblesse Oblige** (n): The inferred responsibility of the privileged to act with generosity and nobility towards their inferiors.

* * *

All political power grows out of the barrel of a gun.

All governments were borne of their respective monopolies on violence and power.

Despite what those whitewashing hacks at the _World of Remnant_ or the _Atlesian Chronicles_ or the _Alexandrian Archives_ might say, the Four Great Kingdoms did not obtain their sovereignty and legitimacy through the 'will of the people' (damn Valeans), 'superior bloodline and genetics' (damn Atlesians), or the 'mandate of the heavens' (damn Mistralians). As loathe as I am to admit it, the (damn) Vacuoans were right, the Kingdoms were established because they were powerful, or, more accurately: because everyone else was fucking dead.

The _World of Remnant_ already tackled the origins of the Kingdoms, but in case you haven't seen or read those, allow me to summarize them for you. Vale survived because the Grimm couldn't be bothered to climb up like seven whole mountain ranges, and swim goddamn narrow, shallow seas to eat a bunch of starving people. Vacuo survived because it was hot. Atlas survived because it was cold and because they stumbled into dust deposits while crying, bawling, and literally digging their own graves. Finally, Mistral survived because not even the Grimm wanted to eat those slimy bastards, _holy shit._

The Kingdoms survived, thrived, accepted immigrants, grew, prospered, kicked the shit out of each other, waged meaningless wars of 'I'm a specialer snowflake den u', waged meaningful wars of 'Ooh, nice dust deposit you got there', fended off the triple threat of the Grimm, rabid faunus, and change.

All that became possible because of one important development that happened which turned Vale, Atlas, Vacuo and Mistral from paranoiac morons huddling around a dumpster fire to the Four Great Kingdoms they are now.

 _They got gud._

Real gud.

 _They created the Huntsmen._

The fledgling Kingdoms had to fight for their survival. They began to use dust in beautiful, glorious, wondrous ways that turned the Grimm to marshmallows. Atlas developed machines and weapons that could kill shit harder. The Vacuoans invented the siesta. The Schnee were summoned from the deepest, darkest pits of hell. Strategy and tactics evolved and adapted to face a relentless, near-limitless foe.

And the Kingdoms still would've lost had they not accidentally invented the Huntsmen.

The Councils continued to run their grand propaganda machines and their entire economies for the training and creation of new Huntsmen, warriors that could make the most use of aura and dust to stand toe to toe with those black, soulless abominations themselves. Power was timelessly appealing, and the Councils made becoming a Huntsman sexier through media and literature, through blindingly huge paychecks, and through plenty of legal exceptions and privileges.

Huntsman numbers soared, and for once in history, the Kingdoms could reliably force the Grimm back.

At that era, for the first time since forever, The Four Kingdoms were at peace, a peace bought with the sacrifice of Huntsman lives, and the threat of Huntsman force.

To expand, the Councils, with the same admirable restraint of drunken frat boys joyriding off a cliff, bred and trained more and _more_ Huntsmen. Populations grew, cities expanded, and the Kingdoms entered a golden age. The Huntsmen held the Grimm at bay, inspired safety among the populace, and served as the iron hand of the law against lawbreakers.

By the time the Councils had realized their mistake, it had become too late.

They had trained too many Huntsmen; too many, too powerful to control, and in the end, even those numbers were too few, and too weak to sustainably expand their territories. The Combat Schools they had established espoused the ideal of a guardian of humanity, standing astride the world, holding no loyalty to any power, to any moral code except for their own.

Basically, the Huntsmen held the Kingdoms by the balls, both metaphorically and literally. If you read industry reports from the era, this is also when the Councilmen began installing bars and distilleries into their private chambers.

They could not curb the physical nor political power of the Huntsmen. Their own decades of propaganda had made the public love the Huntsmen. Their own proclamations made the Huntsmen immune from suit. The very weapons now potentially threatening them, the Councils themselves had forged. Anyone could pay them, and almost unlimited freedom had been given to them.

The kicker? _They still needed the Huntsmen to fight off the Grimm._

This was the era where several prominent Councilmen were driven to suicide, such as infamous Councilman Vercingetorix Arverni, who leaped from the Council Spires, screaming " _Fuck you, Julius Arc_ ," at the top of his lungs. This also led to reforms within the Conciliar Guard, where they began ensuring that the Councilmen were safe from everything, _even themselves._

The Kingdoms needed the Huntsmen; the Huntsmen did not need them.

The Kingdoms had lost their hold over power and strength, and the Huntsmen arose as an absolute, supreme caste, unmatched in power, unbound by laws, undefeatable by mortal hands.

The Kingdoms had created a new nobility, a new ruling class, a new paradigm, a newer brand of feudalism.

The Kingdoms had created their own demise.

 **-Pinkamena Diane Pie,** _ **You See That Old Guy? Fuck Him, This is His Fault:**_ **Chapter 3**

* * *

"A beautiful lie, that great power goes hand in hand with great responsibility; the strong were always eating the weak."

 **Jasmine Deep**

* * *

Matthew Riesling, the Seventh Councilman of the Valean Council was the very picture of serene grace. The same, however, could not be said of his guard.

"Sup, Matt," Kestrel Winchester swaggered in the room. "I've brought the Arc."

 _Arc._

With calm, practiced motions, Riesling swivelled his chair to the side and poured himself a full glass, not some pathetic singular finger, of whiskey. Downing it in several big, burning, gloriously mind-numbing gulps, he turned back and flashed his customary smile.

"Forgive me, Kestrel," Riesling nodded. "I must be tired. I almost thought you said you brought that Arc here."

Kestrel gave no response. Rather, the big man smiled.

" _Fffffffffffffuuuuuuuuuuck,"_ Riesling palmed his face.

Kestrel smiled.

Riesling massaged his temples. "Seriously?"

Kestrel continued smiling like the faunus-kicking, seal-clubbing Winchester bastard he was.

Hand on one side of his face, Riesling shot him a baleful, one-eyed glare. "Why is the Arc _here_ and not being detained, questioned, or under custody of the VPD as is proper?"

"A waste of an opportunity," Kestrel took a seat. "Our biggest concern right now is that we have no idea what Ozpin's up to. Now, we have a chance to rectify that."

"Isn't that why we've retrieved Qrow?" Riesling slumped in his chair.

Kestrel's eyes narrowed, and his eyes were filled with determination. "Qrow Branwen is a Huntsman among Huntsmen, a man's man's man, and all-around slippery bastard. Everything that comes out of his mouth, I want double-checked."

"True," Riesling conceded. "Your contacts within Ozpin's faction, have they anything new to say?"

Kestrel grunted. "No. As usual, Ozpin's hiding everything he can, even from his own confidantes. Most of his people don't even know that Qrow Branwen was in Vale."

Riesling sighed. "Damn. 'Twas a heavy-handed move, but better safe than sorry, I suppose. What of House Arc?"

"The Arcs," Kestrel's expression grew dark. "Viridian Arc of Vale has disappeared completely from the map. Alexander and Athena are missing, likely on one of Ozpin's missions. Viola and Indigo remain in Atlas, and Sapphire is in Mistral."

Riesling's eyes narrowed into slits. "Rouge and Sienna?"

Kestrel met his gaze. "No idea. We haven't heard from our eyes and ears in Vacuo in a month."

Riesling turned pensive. "I see…"

"…Ozpin's planning something big, isn't he?" Kestrel leaned forward, levity gone.

"So it seems." Riesling closed his eyes. "This Jaune Arc… you're sure he can be trusted?"

"He's honest," Kestrel leaned back on his chair. "That's more I can say about him than the rest of his family."

Riesling massaged his temples.

"He doesn't plan on fighting," Kestrel continued. "His aura's in the yellow, nearing the red. Nothing in his body language indicates aggression, and if I were to take a guess, he's just nervous and curious. Did you get my recording of our talk?"

"Yes, I listened to it," Riesling muttered. "You've spoken to him; got a handle on his personality. How do you think we should approach this?"

Kestrel rubbed his beard. "…Slowly."

"Wonderful," Riesling adjusted his papers and fixed his desk. "Well, no point putting it off, show him around and have him meet me in my study."

* * *

"…and that's my statement," Pyrrha Nikos finished, bright smile on her face.

"Alright," Commissioner Jade Gordon jotted down on her scroll. "So just a recap, you and Jaune Arc meet up to fight the Fang, but run into a powerful rogue Huntsman."

"That's correct," Pyrrha nods.

"Can you describe him for me?" Jade asked.

Pyrrha frowned. "It was dark, and the gas made everything hazy. I didn't see much, but I can say for certain that he was wearing a white coat and wielded a large sword."

Jade frowned. "The white coat fits the appearance of Roman Torchwick, but the sword doesn't. Is there anything else you could tell me about him?"

Pyrrha cringed. "He was rude, smug, and unpleasant."

"…Yeah, that sounds more like Roman," Jade sneered. "You know who he is?"

Pyrrha apologized. "Sorry, no. I've just arrived from Mistral. This is my second day in Vale."

"Ah, well," Jade nodded. "We'll add terrorism to his rap sheet. You say he fought _with_ or _against_ the Fang?"

Pyrrha squinted. "Against. The rogue seemed to strike at everyone in the area."

"Huh," Jade jotted that detail down. " _Definitely_ not Torchwick then. One of his accomplices was interred in that hospital, and I thought he would've made an attempt to break her out and cover his tracks."

Pyrrha raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure it's alright to tell me such details?"

"Ehh, don't worry about it," Jade waved a hand dismissively. "You're Pyrrha Nikos, you're practically guaranteed to be a Huntress. Besides, knowing Ozpin, the Huntsmen will likely take over the investigation as usual."

"I-I see."

"Say…" Jade turned to Pyrrha quizzically. "You wouldn't have encountered my colleague, Qrow Branwen at the hospital at all, would you?"

"Who?" Pyrrha merely raised an eyebrow.

"Nah, forget it," Jade shook her head. "Anyway, where are you staying? I'll have someone drop you off, Pyrrha?"

"No thank you," Pyrrha plastered on a polite smile. "My manager's coming over to pick me up." Pyrrha took out her scroll. "She said she'd be here any moment now."

"Your manager?" Jade asked. "It's pretty late, you know. Are you sure she'd be able to –"

A fist rapped on the door.

"Commissioner?" A voice resounded, muffled through the door. "A Miss Blanc is here for Pyrrha Nikos. Says she's her manager."

The Commissioner clicked her tongue. "She's got excellent timing, I'll give her that."

Pyrrha nodded. "Uncannily good, yes."

"Well," the older woman smiled, and extended a hand. "I won't keep you any longer. It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Nikos."

Pyrrha nodded, and before she left the room, hastily put on her thick travel clothes and glasses. She was still within the environs of Alchemilla, and though she had come to know the place as a bullet-ridden battlefield, it looked completely different well-lit and bustling with activity.

A police officer nodded to her, gesturing for her to follow. Pyrrha complied, before she realized something.

Where was Jaune?

She frowned. While she was worried for him, she was also well-aware of her friend's prodigious aura reserves. Jaune also had the good sense to remain out of combat when the battle seemed to heat up, but she couldn't deny that she was still worried for him. After she had run into the VPD, she scanned for Jaune again and he was gone.

Immediately, she had her scroll out and sent a text.

 _Pyr N.: "Jaune, are you okay? Please respond!"_

A minute passed. Two minutes passed. Pyrrha's walk sped up and the corridors and turns began to blur. Was Jaune –

Her scroll vibrated, her simple ringtone, Pyrrha immediately lifted her scroll.

Jaune's smiling face appeared on her screen, a cup of coffee in his hands, sunlight fluttering through the trees in his background.

 _Moon-moon: "Ohai Pyr! Dun worry, Im fine ;)"_

The corners of her lips twitched upwards.

While he wasn't the, uhh, most adequate of fighters, Jaune made up for it with sheer persistence alone. Even as she felt the cold pangs of fear clutch her spine, Jaune stood alongside her, resolute. She'd known much stronger warriors who had caved in at the face of lesser dangers.

"Miss Nikos?" a serene, melodic voice roused her from her thoughts. At almost the same time, the familiar, comforting scent of jasmine caressed her sense of smell.

Pyrrha Nikos looked up, from Jaune's picture.

"Miss Blanc!" she smiled.

The woman in front of her was her manager, or to be more accurate, her temporary manager after she had had the previous one fired. Miss Blanc performed her task wonderfully, somehow managing to fit her harsh training regimes along with her studies and her marketing stunts.

Blanc was there with delicious, expertly-prepared, nutritious snacks every time before she even knew she was hungry. Blanc was there ready to distract reporters and paparazzi when they became too intrusive. Blanc was there to arrange the best possible fights where she would learn the most, advance her career, and have fun. Simply put, her timing was absolutely impeccable, and she was always seemed to know the best thing to do at the best possible time.

And there, before her emerald eyes, her pillar of support, her bastion against the media, her font of privacy waggled her eyebrows and smiled.

Pyrrha froze.

"I know that smile, Pyrrha," Miss Blanc purred, _purred_.

Pyrrha had never been so afraid in her life.

"You have a crush," Blanc's voice was smooth. "No, not yet, someone you're interested in?"

Pyrrha turned to run, but before she truly could, an arm snaked around her shoulders and pulled her in a friendly embrace. She struggled, yet even she was no match for the older woman's managerial grip.

"Alright, let's see who you're talking to –" Miss Blanc leaned in and then _froze._

There, in that very moment, it was as if a fog or some sort of lens had been lifted from Pyrrha's eyes, and instead of the elegant features of her manager, _she saw the face of Jaune Arc._

 _No, it wasn't him, s_ he realized. _The features were similar, but all wrong._

That, and while Jaune had an ass, this woman had boobs.

The chin was less rugged, and sharper than Jaune's. Her jaw was softer. Her nose was a little sharper, her lips a little thicker and was paler than his. Her complexion was lighter. Where Jaune would hold an absentminded smile; this woman kept her mouth in a tight line.

The person standing before her was taller than Jaune by a few inches. Her blonde hair was smoother, pulled into a very professional looking bun. Where her friend would wear his old, weathered plate over a loose old hoodie, this woman wore perfectly-fitting business attire in varying shades of white and gray.

 _Her eyes were colder than his._

Pyrrha Nikos blinked, and all of a sudden, those images were gone. Beside her, peeking into her scroll was simply the smiling face of her new, temporary manager.

"Oh? Who's this?" Miss Blanc teased. "A new… _friend?_ Should I be worried?"

Pyrrha flushed. "N-no, wait, I mean, yes. I met him earlier today! He's a hunter-in-training, aiming to enter Beacon!"

"So I see," Miss Blanc smiled, and there was some hint of something in that smirk that Pyrrha just couldn't place. It was some sort of smug satisfaction, like someone who just won some kind of bet.

"It's late," Miss Blanc smiled. "We should get going, Pyrrha."

Pyrrha nodded. "Let's."

As Pyrrha turned her back, the woman who took the name of Blanc let herself breathe. For a brief moment, she let her current persona fall, and looked up wistfully into the night sky.

"Good job, Jaune," Bianca Arc whispered. "You'll learn much from there, Beacon shall light your path."

Bianca closed her eyes, and when she opened, she was Blanc once more.

* * *

Ozpin sipped his coffee.

Taiyang Xiao Long sat across his headmaster.

Yang had taken Ruby aside and left him, Ozpin and Glynda alone. Though Taiyang had wanted nothing more than to comfort his youngest daughter, there were more important things he needed to discuss first.

 _Summer Rose_ , appeared after so many years, apparently risen from the dead, wielding a sword and shield crafted by _Arc_ hands, defending the _White Fang_ from Qrow Branwen. Somehow, the VPD and the Council Guard were involved in this too.

Ozpin sipped from his cup for the 45th time. Those mugs had to be enchanted or altered somehow.

Taiyang's fists tightened, straining the durable leather of his gloves. Protecting the Island of Patch meant that he was more often than not, out of the loop. With Qrow out of the picture, they'd be losing a great deal of intel and power.

"Okay, give me a recap," Taiyang leaned forward, placing a fist on the table. " _What the hell happened here_ , what was Qrow even doing in Alchemilla? I didn't even know he was in Vale."

Ozpin and Glynda traded a single glance, before turning to face him.

"I believe it would be best," Glynda spoke. "If we started from the beginning."

Ozpin set down his cup.

"Qrow retrieved the Fall Maiden little less than a month ago, encountering a cloaked figure we now know to possibly be Summer Rose assisting the White Fang. Despite being under his no-doubt watchful vigil, the Fall Maiden disappeared." Ozpin sipped, then set down his cup. "It was around this time as well that James Ironwood and the Kingdom of Atlas grew silent, starting a full crackdown on possible rebels, and White Fang spies."

Glynda nodded, and continued for him. "At around this time, White Fang activity from all over Remnant, except for Vale, seems to subside, but our border patrols report concentrations of suspected White Fang faunus converging on Vale."

Taiyang frowned.

"Renowned criminal Roman Torchwick spearheaded multiple heists and hits on Vale's dust supply, almost in conjunction with doubled White Fang attacks on SDC dust freight trains," Glynda spoke, adjusting her glasses. "I and your daughter encountered Torchwick earlier, yet, failed to bring him into custody."

"Ruby mentioned his escape bullhead crashed when you struck it down," Taiyang raised an eyebrow.

"Roman escaped," Glynda corrected. "His companion _didn't_."

"The VPD recovered Roman's accomplice and turned her in to the nearest hospital, Alchemilla, under heavy guard." Ozpin folded his hands together. "And according to testimonies by your daughter and Glynda, that accomplice was wielding the Fall Maiden's powers."

"So… that accomplice was Qrow's objective," Taiyang muttered. "And as soon as Qrow had reached the area, he had been attacked by both Summer and the White Fang."

"We have no evidence," Glynda spoke, eyes irritated. "But too many coincidences are happening for us to discount them as unrelated incidents. The Fall Maiden, Roman's accomplice who may or may not possess her powers, Roman Torchwick and his dust heists, The White Fang, Summer Rose's 'return', the Arc Family, and Atlas suddenly halting communication."

Ozpin sighed. "It would be best if we added the VPD and the Conciliar Guard to that list as well. While I am unsure of their motives, it is they who would be in a prime position to capture a wounded Qrow."

"Why would the Council Guard act against us?" Taiyang frowned. "Ozpin, are you holding back information from everyone again?"

"With the stakes as high as they are, we cannot afford any type of information leak," Ozpin responded. "The Huntsmen were always intended to remain neutral, a separate, independent force maintaining the peace and balance between the Kingdoms, as well as defenders against the Grimm. On the other hand, the Councils view us in terms of weapons, as means to their ends. How would the Councils act should they secure the Fall Maiden for themselves?"

Taiyang winced. "I see your point. Damn."

Glynda sipped her tea. "That, and we have adequate reason to suspect that they would be vulnerable to subversion by the Queen, if they haven't already."

Taiyang raised an eyebrow. "What are we going to do about them?"

"For now?" Ozpin set down his cup. "We observe them, identify whether they could potentially be aligned with the Queen, and verify whether or not they've had a hand in Qrow's disappearance."

"And if they do?"

" _We do what we usually do._ At best, we ask _nicely_ ," Ozpin shrugged. "At worst, we remove them quietly and raise someone useful in their place."

Taiyang's eyebrows began to furrow.

"I understand your misgivings," Ozpin nodded his head. "Yet, with the stakes being the fate of humanity itself, there can be no hesitation, no mistakes."

Taiyang sighed, and grudgingly nodded his head.

"If that line of questioning is finished," Glynda interrupted. "I would like to move on to our next order of business. How do we proceed with regards to the Arc Family?"

"Wait, hold up. Aren't the Arcs supposed to be on our side?"

"Nominally, yes," Glynda frowned. "However, it has been some time since we were able to contact Alexander, Athena, or Six of the Seven."

Ozpin raised his cup to his lips, "I sent Alexander and Athena to check on possible leads on the other Maidens. I've instructed them to maintain silence as much as possible, so as not to tip off our enemies."

Glynda narrowed her eyes. "You didn't tell us that."

Ozpin waved a hand dismissively. "Still, we cannot contact Six of the Seven Sisters?"

"Yes," Glynda frowned. "All we actually do know is that they are within their respective Kingdoms; Rouge and Sienna in Vacuo, Viola and Indigo in Atlas, Viridian somewhere in Vale, and Sapphire in Mistral. Aside from that, they do not answer our attempts at communication."

"Don't, or _can't?"_ Taiyang interjected. "Viola and Indigo could merely be following Atlas's orders and keeping quiet. Bandits and the usual warlord are extremely common in Vacuo, so Rouge and Sienna might have their hands full. Same could go for the rest."

Ozpin turned to Glynda. "And Bianca Arc, is she fulfilling her task?"

Glynda nodded. "She should be escorting Pyrrha Nikos to Beacon shortly." At Taiyang's questioning look, Glynda answered, "On her own, she would be an asset to Beacon, and should anything happen to the Maiden, Miss Nikos shall be our candidate for Fall."

"And if the Maiden is already dead?" Taiyang questioned.

"Then we kill her and ensure Miss Nikos inherits Fall," Glynda spoke dispassionately. "While the powers of a Maiden are indeed great, between you and me, we should have decent chances of eliminating this usurper."

"And if the powers of the Maidens are more powerful than we thought?" Taiyang asked.

"Then I deal with this usurper myself. _I believe I can at least defeat a Maiden._ " Ozpin finished his coffee. "Something's going to plan, at least. Have Bianca report to me when she's done."

"We're acting, then," Glynda finished off her tea.

"About time," Taiyang rose from his chair.

"While I would have preferred a gentler touch," Ozpin remarked, clutching his cane. "Our world has strayed far from its proper course."

Ozpin rose, and in his mind's eye, he drew up the board, and set his pieces. His pawns, his bishops, his rooks, his _knights._

"The game is afoot."

* * *

The Seventh Councilman Matthew Riesling moved his Bishop forward and captured the enemy Knight.

Chess AI just wasn't as good as it used to be.

Riesling sat in his study. The room was much more subdued than the other rooms in the citadel. It was still lavishly and tastefully decorated, of course, but simpler and cozier.

The soothing pitter-patter of the rain outside put his mind at ease. The mist and rainfall masked the room's usual grand view of the city, and for a brief moment, he could pretend that the crumbling city he had to defend didn't exist.

He reached out to the center of the table and poured himself a finger of whiskey. Idly, he wondered if Kestrel Winchester, his guard, was showing the Arc boy the scenic route, or ushering him directly to the study.

Riesling did not have to wait long.

The door at the far end of the room opened, and a white-cloaked figure strode forth, sure steps echoing on the polished floors. Behind him, he could spot the imposing frame of Kestrel Winchester nod, before disappearing behind the corner.

Had this been a normal visit from anyone else, Riesling would have flashed his guest a bright smile, and ushered him in to sit down on the chair across his.

"Good evening. Jaune Arc?"

Instead, he spoke in a level, neutral, respectful tone. All the while, keeping his eyes on the Arc, he waited for the boy to make his move.

They knew too little about him, Kestrel's information aside.

"Yeah," Jaune gave him a sheepish smile. "That's me."

"Please, come closer," Riesling's expression did not change, he maintained his passive almost-smile.

The very steps the boy made were… interesting, to say the least. He was easily around six feet tall, and his shoulders were broad, yet… he wasn't intimidating because the way he slouched and angled his head made him look nonthreatening. His strides were strong and sure, yet they were done without any posturing or unnecessary strength. His weapons lay strapped to his waist, and though he _seemed_ nervous, his hands didn't twitch towards them like many other Huntsmen would.

This was a lion playing a lamb, or a lamb pretending to be a lion.

Riesling sipped his drink, his lips betraying no words. The boy was approaching his table. The lighting of the room was stark and dramatic, much like an interrogation room. The layout of the study was set up to evoke the imagery of many kinds of rooms. Would the boy stand at attention in front of his desk as a soldier would to his superior? Would the boy take his place at the end of the table, implying… _discomfort, entitlement, professionalism, confrontation, distance?_ Would the boy stand awkwardly, wavering between one choice and the next?

Jaune Arc continued walking, and without pause, took a seat to Riesling's side.

While Riesling maintained eye contact, he was well aware of how the boy sat down. The boy turned the chair to face him better, legs spread comfortably, feet at ease and pointed at him. The boy leaned forward, a hand on the table. Jaune maintained easy eye contact, not shirking away.

 _Not confrontational, relaxed, not-afraid-of-you, casual, 'on-your-side', eager to listen._

Riesling made a show of sipping his drink, and he could see the boy suddenly notice the filled glass resting in the center of the table.

He had once hosted others in these same exact circumstances.

Glynda Goodwitch had taken a seat across him, noticed the drink, and promptly ignored it. Her eyes had narrowed in brief suspicion, and her posture was rigid and wary.

When he had first met Kestrel Winchester, he had seated across him as well, noticed the drink, and asked if it were meant for him. His posture was flexible, and relaxed, or at least, trying to be.

His eyes focused on Jaune Arc.

Jaune reached out for the glass, and brought it to his mouth.

Either this boy was brave or stupid. Riesling finished his drink, and began to speak –

Jaune Arc downed the glass in one gulp.

"Damn," Riesling muttered, against his will.

That glass contained what Winchester liked to call the 'good stuff', in that it set your throat aflame and that its brewers may or may not have used red dust in the distillation of that drink. Good stuff.

 _How old was this kid again?_

The boy Arc slammed a fist on the table, choked, and promptly spat the drink out in Riesling's face.

Welp. This was new.

From his hidden earpiece, he could hear that bastard Winchester howling and laughing like a loon. Riesling made a mental note to have him host the damned Vacuoan delegation for the Vytal Festival. Ha, take that, it'd take the old bastard years to get the smell off.

The Arc blinked at him awkwardly. His eyes wide, his posture tense, his body leaning slightly for the direction of the door.

Riesling slowly, slowly reevaluated his approach.

"You know what, _fuck this._ " The Councilman eloquently remarked. He pressed a button hidden under his desk, and the stark white lighting was replaced with bright, warm, soft, comforting yellow light. "Let's start over."

Dabbing at the burning alcohol on his face with a napkin, Riesling smiled and extended his right hand to the boy. "Hello, I am Matthew Riesling, Seventh Councilman of the Great Kingdom of Vale. It is a pleasure to meet you, Jaune Arc."

Jaune blinked, and though he was still wary, he showed the first signs of relaxing.

Riesling continued, his smile becoming wider and more natural. "What can I offer you, is there anything you would want to eat?

Food. Food was useful. People were less on guard as they ate. Riesling might be able to get something useful there.

Jaune blinked again, and he himself smiled. "It's fine, sir," the boy spoke, genuine, polite respect in his words. "I'm planning to eat dinner with my friends later, so I'll have to decline your offer."

"You're sure?" Riesling raised an eyebrow. He did have a pretty damned good chef on his staff. "Not even a small snack?"

"Well, sir, if you insist…" Jaune scratched his cheek.

Riesling smiled benevolently, sipping his drink, relishing in the wonderful burn –

"I would like a cream pie!" Jaune beamed.

Riesling choked on the drink, the alcohol burning his lungs.

Kestrel Winchester laughed in his ear, and from the sounds of it, the asshole was eating popcorn. Riesling made a mental note to exile him to that little suicide island called Patch where all the villagers were insane, had slow wi-fi, and ate nothing but the same dish of chicken every day and every night.

"A… cream pie…" Riesling choked out the words like Kestrel probably choked his son.

"Yeah!" Jaune smiled. "Dad says that girls love 'em."

Riesling covered his face with his hands.

Jaune blinked. "Something wrong, Councilman?"

"No, no." Riesling subtly yanked out the earpiece out, silencing Kestrel's braying laughter. "It's just been a long day, that's all."

Jaune's eyes caught the earpiece, and he winced in sympathy. "Long day, huh. I can relate."

"Oh?" Riesling raised an eyebrow. That was genuine sympathy he sensed from the boy. "This is nothing. I'm not the one who was in a Hospital during a terrorist attack."

"Not that kind of tired," Jaune explained. "It's… how do I say it, it's like you've spent the whole day acting, pretending to be someone you're not. That kind of tired, like mentally tired."

Though Riesling's expression did not change, his mind began running a mile a minute. Delving into Kestrel's report, he began listing down what he knew about the boy. Runaway from the Arc Family, a disappointment, living with friends, fellow huntsmen-in-training, training accident leads to being in hospital during the Incident.

Was he putting on a strong façade for his family, then later, his friends, only for it to come crashing down on in the hospital?

Riesling considered being subtle, then shrugged, and decided to be blunt. "You put up a strong façade for your friends back there?"

His words seemed to hit the spot, because relief immediately flooded Jaune's back, and he slumped down on the armchair.

"Yeah, _God,_ " Jaune leaned back. " _Exactly_ that. Seriously, it's like every time something like that happens, everyone looks to _me_ for help."

" _Every time?"_ Riesling questioned. _What was that, like, training hunts against the Grimm,_ "What, you lead your friends against the Grimm too?"

"Oh God yes," Jaune ranted. "Imagine it, we were fighting the Grimm, we were losing like, _way_ bad, and I was terrified out of my mind. Then, someone hears my name and thinks, _'hey, don't worry, the Arc will save us!'"_

"Damn," Riesling remarked. _Grimm fight gone bad,_ shit, they lost loads of aspiring Huntsmen-in-training to stupid accidents like that. "What happened?"

Jaune closed his eyes and gave a lazy smile. "Friend managed to bail us out. We met this super-cool girl, her name's Penny, and she's got this cool robot arm, and she basically saved all our asses and got us a ride back to safety."

"Huh," Riesling interjected. The boy didn't brag or make himself look good, Kestrel was right, this was an unusual Arc. "That sounds like quite the unpleasant experience."

"Yeah, no kidding. The next time I fight the Grimm, I'm definitely keeping close to the walls," Jaune grumbled. "And those guys are still, like, _super delusional_ , and calling me their leader and stuff even though I keep trying to tell them it wasn't me."

Riesling nodded in sympathy. "People believe what they want to believe."

"Yeah," Jaune sunk against the comfy armchair. "They made me their leader again, despite the fact that I can't fight at all. Honestly, at this point, I've just decided to keep up appearances and stuff, at least to keep them out of trouble."

Riesling chuckled and raised his glass. "Don't be so hard on yourself, Jaune. A large part of leadership is simply looking calm and trustworthy in times of panic and chaos."

Jaune poured himself a glass of water. "You sound like you're speaking from experience, Councilman."

"Never underestimate the power of good PR," Riesling nodded sagely. "Also, never forget the consequences of bad PR. Bank Runs happen when people lose faith in a bank, when they _feel_ the bank could run out of money, not when the bank actually fails. Prices fall and rise depending on what people _think_ about prospects."

Riesling straightened up, and his eyes were dead serious. "Tell me, young Jaune, what do you think is the worst that could happen if people lose faith, _if people lose hope?_ "

Jaune thought for a few moments, before shaking his head, and gesturing for the Councilman to continue.

"The absolute worst that could happen," Riesling intoned. " _Is that the Grimm attack._ "

Jaune paused, and then nodded. "The Grimm are drawn by negativity."

"Precisely," Riesling sipped from his glass. "It's something the people living within Vale's walls like to forget."

"The worst part about it is how easy negativity can spread. Imagine that you're someone living on one of the many frontier villages in Remnant. Most of such places are farming villages that make their living by selling produce and the like to the Kingdoms and cities," Riesling leaned forward. "All it could take for one such settlement to die is a draught, or a bad storm, or a fire. At best, such negativity would only bring forth the lesser variants of Beowolves and Ursae, definitely not enough to wipe out a village, but even then, without Huntsmen on hand, the villages would suffer casualties."

"I get it" mused Jaune. "The Grimm attack, the settlement loses people, their morale plummets, causing the Grimm to attack them again and again. Still, isn't that why we have the Huntsmen in the first place?"

"Indeed," Riesling sipped. "Or at least, that's how it's supposed to go."

Ah, and here it was. Riesling acted nonchalant, but he trained his eyes to detect every little movement, every little change in posture, every little blink Jaune would do.

Jaune's brows dipped, twisted ever so slightly, facial muscles pulling taut. _Confusion._

"What do you mean?" Jaune asked.

Riesling leaned forward. "You want to be a Huntsman, correct? Then I see no harm in telling you the truth. Everyone needs to know what they're fighting for."

Jaune leaned forward, all his signs and tells blatantly advertising pure and undiluted interest.

This was his chance.

The trick to selling a solution to someone wasn't challenging the person's beliefs. No, the trick involved was having the person come up with his own conclusions, making it seem as if the solutions and problems were his own ideas.

The problem in Remnant is that… _Ozpin expends his resources and huntsmen in some grand scheme that no one, not even his most trusted advisors know anything about? Atlas is building up on military force, hiring Huntsmen on permanent bases, and wielding its dust embargoes and military like a drug dealing gang knocking for protection money? Rising trend of Grimm attacks? Tensions are rising between faunus and humanity?_

Kestrel said the boy wanted to be a _hero._

"The problem in Remnant," Riesling intoned carefully. "Is that the world needs more heroes."

Jaune Arc's gaze locked on his, blue eyes intensifying, lighting up into an almost luminescent azure, burning in the dark.

 _Do I have your attention now?_

"Tell me, Jaune Arc," Riesling narrowed his eyes. "What is a hero to you?"

"Someone who helps people," Jaune answered without hesitation. "A hero is someone who defends the people, while at the same time, inspiring _hope._ "

"How vague," Riesling commented. "Which people in particular? Be clear. The humans of Vale? Its faunus populations? The people living on the frontiers? The Mistralians? The Vacuoans? The Atlesians?"

"Everyone in need," the Arc spoke. "Strangers are just friends you haven't met yet."

Riesling met his eyes, his own cloudy grey eyes against his blue fire. "And you plan to help everyone how? All these groups of people hardly have the same problems, Grimm aside. Defend them from whom, and defend them using what methods?"

"I want to try and help them in any way I can, and I want to defend them from harm," spoke the Arc. His voice was steel, but his answer wasn't so sure.

"What will you do then, when one group harms another group you have sworn to protect?" Riesling folded his fingers together. "You've chosen to help a very broad demographic of people, and not all of their interests align with the other. What would you do if the border conflicts escalated, and war erupted between the Kingdom of Vacuo and the Kingdom of Atlas?"

"That's what the Huntsmen are for," Jaune answered. "The Huntsmen are independent of the Kingdoms, and they can intervene."

"And Atlas was once a Combat Academy. Now it is the name of the State itself." Riesling answered back. "Atlas retains its Huntsmen, taking a fourth of the total Huntsmen in Remnant for itself. Can you also say with certainty that Vacuoan-born Huntsmen will not return to defend their fatherland? Or that the Huntsmen will intervene rather than accept top lien for participating in the conflict?"

"Then," Jaune looked as if he had bitten something bitter. "I would support whoever was right."

"The border conflicts involved are a struggle between Vacuo's deep dust deposits, dating back to when Atlas subjugated Vacuo almost a century ago in the Great War." Riesling was patient. "Atlas was the first aggressor, true, but it has settlements, and people in the region, and has done much to improve the quality of life in the area. On the other hand, Vacuo only protects its own interests, and ceding such rich lands to Atlas would make them beholden even further to Atlas and the Schnee. _Who is right?_ "

Jaune exhaled. "And you, Councilman? What would you do?"

"If the situation indeed happened, if the territorial disputes _did_ turn hot, and if there were no chances of peaceful intervention, then I, as a Councilman of Vale, would serve Valean interests." Riesling spoke. "Vale will not benefit much from Atlas obtaining the deposits; such would only strengthen Atlesian dominance in Remnant. Vale would not benefit from Vacuo keeping the dust deposits for themselves. Vale would not benefit from entering a meaningless war where it gains nothing but the enmity of a Kingdom, and it would not benefit from remaining truly neutral."

Riesling waved a hand, and his desk turned into a map of Remnant.

"Vacuo cannot defeat Atlas. As Vale, I would send men to protect those disenfranchised and harmed by the war from the scavengers, both Grimm and bandit." Riesling answered. "Weave the media right, and Vale would be seen as impartial defenders of the weak. The Kingdom's morale should rise, allowing for the easy acceptance of refugees. Depending on how badly Vacuo is defeated, we should be able to accept a decently sized Vacuoan population, and gain leverage with our goodwill, although in the big picture, that is secondary."

Jaune raised an eyebrow. "How is the protection of the innocent a secondary goal?"

Riesling's expression did not change. "If Atlas should win, Vale and Mistral would think, 'what's stopping Atlas from doing the same to us'. The Primary goal would be to galvanize the three Kingdoms against Atlas. Should such a situation come to pass, Huntsmen from Vale, Mistral, and Vacuo would serve as the Northern Kingdom's leash."

Riesling stared at Jaune, then the right corner of his mouth quirked up in a smirk. "At least, that would be a solution should that clusterfuck come to pass."

Jaune resisted the urge to palm his face. "Alright, so tell me, _what's the real, best way you'd solve that thing."_

"Easy," Riesling declared. "You never allow it to happen in the first place."

Jaune blinked.

"Convince my Vacuoan and Atlesian counterparts not to escalate," Riesling ticked the options on his fingers. "Spearhead joint mining projects. Have the media weave some new celebrity scandal to distract the people if it gets too hot. Oh, and find the ringleaders heading their factions and either talk them down, or, a personal favorite of mine; ice the fuckers before they can spread their toxic bullshit."

Jaune gaped.

Riesling pat him on the shoulder.

"Still, Jaune," Riesling's eyes turned paternal. "If you'll notice, those are all stopgap measures and damage control. Those solutions stop the outbreak of open conflict, but they don't stop the conflict itself nor do they stop the Grimm from preying on the disheartened. If I were truly to stop this dispute sustainably, if I were to ensure that this conflict would be stopped more or less forever, you know what I would do?"

Jaune stared at him, granting the old Councilman his full attention.

Riesling leaned in close, whispering conspiratorially.

" _Win the hearts and minds of the people._ Make them believe in peace and compromise, that we can make more use of the land together."

"Change comes from everyone, huh," muttered Jaune.

"Indeed," Riesling refilled his glass. "You could _force_ people to change through force of arms and legislature, but you would only end up breeding resentment against you and squandering your own influence, and for what? Power is ephemeral, and legislature can be repealed, but if you change their minds, if you change their worldviews, then can you effect change."

Jaune Arc was silent, his eyebrows knitted in thought.

Not his best series of speeches and rants. Riesling remained calm, hands on the armrests. Was he successful?

Jaune spoke.

"What are your thoughts on the White Fang?"

Huh.

Riesling squinted. Not the direction he'd expected the boy to take. He had recently encountered them, was he curious?

"They fight to protect faunus interests at large," Riesling spoke carefully. "Though their stated motives are just, I cannot condone their actions. Many have fallen in the wake of their crusade, both innocent and guilty of the acts they claim to hate."

Riesling became concerned, Jaune's expression had become difficult to read.

"How would you…" Jaune carefully intoned the words as if they were poison. "How would you _optimally_ deal with the Fang and the faunus."

Riesling sipped from his glass. "I don't know, Jaune. _What would be the best way to resolve this?_ You tell me."

Jaune paused.

Riesling reached out a hand, "Let's take a scenario. Say the Council as a whole decides to accede to all White Fang demands, as well as offer them leniency on all their previous crimes against Vale. How would the people of Vale feel, _how would they react?"_

"They'd riot," Jaune spoke immediately, thoughtlessly. Judging from how his face twisted after he spoke, that wasn't the answer he wanted. "A lot of people distrust the White Fang, and view it as a terrorist group. A lot of pent-up negativity would be released there."

"You are not wrong in that assessment," Riesling put down his drink. "Despite the faunus war being a thing of the past, its wounds and scars are still fresh in the minds of its survivors and their families. The name 'White Fang' itself is also reviled among the younger, _your_ , generation, as a result of all their actions. Let us take another course of action, then."

With a wave of his hand, the table shifted to a TV news channel, the screen displaying Councilman Mark Malbec shouting in front of a roaring crowd.

" _-Do you see this, my fellow Valeans?!"_ Malbec roared. _"We let the faunus in, and_ this _is how they repay us?! We're going to have more and_ more _Alchemilla Hospitals until we start throwing those_ animals _out! Every faunus refugee coming to our beautiful Kingdom is a threat! We welcome those animals with open arms, and they repay our kindness by turning to terrorism!"_

Riesling resisted the urge to chuckle, at least someone was having fun. Jaune narrowed his eyes. Good.

" _-I am Councilman Mark Malbec, and_ hear me _goddamn you, I am calling for a total shutdown of all faunus entering. The. KINGDOM. OF. VALE!"_

Riesling drew up the banner of the White Fang, the snarling scarlet beast against the field of white. "What if we hardened our stance? What if we turned aside every faunus seeking refuge behind Vale's walls? What if we raided the impoverished districts occupied by the faunus, and drove them out? What if we did what my fellow Councilman continues to recommend, and began taking into custody every faunus suspected of possessing White Fang ties?"

"The people wouldn't just riot, they'd _rebel_ ," Jaune Arc mused. "What Malbec plans to do would turn every faunus in Remnant against him. Hell, I'm willing to bet he'd even convince the moderate and neutral humans to reject him. The Grimm would be at our gates in, _like_ , hours."

Riesling shut off the screen, and the room was once again silent, save for the calm rhythm of the showering rain.

"Assume your will was that of the Council's, Jaune Arc," Riesling spoke. "How would you solve this dilemma of the White Fang? How would you answer your own question?"

Jaune paused, and then moved to speak –

"Let me rephrase that," Riesling interrupted, and then looked Jaune in the eye. "How would a _Hero_ protect _everyone_? How would a _Hero_ resolve this scenario with the least possible amount of bloodshed necessary?"

Jaune's eyes lit up, two orbs of pale blue burning like small stars.

"Compromise..." Jaune frowned. "No, compromise is too weak of a word. _Cooperation."_

"Oh?"

Jaune Arc drew his sword slowly, and Riesling raised an eyebrow.

"The White Fang engage in terrorism, yet it's because they were hurt and abused by the Kingdoms, and don't know any better alternative." Jaune Arc raised his sword up, staring at the ancient steel as it caught what little moonlight filtered in through the darkness. "The Kingdoms, on the other hand, despise the Fang, and rightfully so."

Riesling's eyes were drawn to the old blade, and though it was old and gray, it shone white.

Jaune stared at his favoured sword, captivated, enticed. "Neither side will even consider forgiveness without justice. And… I'm guessing the Councils haven't really made any hard moves in this goal because it would shake the boat up too much?"

Riesling's mouth twitched into a small smile.

Jaune's brows furrowed in concentration. "The Kingdoms hate the Fang and dislike the faunus, peace with them means Grimm. The Fang hate the Kingdoms and most likely hate humanity, if their leaders surrender, Grimm. Then there's the economic reason, faunus are exploited and abused even today because they make labor cheap, and thus keep dust cheap. Even a single lien's increase in the price of dust would mean an increase in the costs of fuel, energy, and materials, and drive everything up. Short term instability: Grimm."

"I'm not seeing a solution, Jaune," Riesling's smile did not leave his face. "All your roads lead to the Grimm."

"The Grimm are the only enemy that matters," spoke Jaune Arc. "My solution would be cooperation. Public opinion can be swayed, humans can be persuaded to be more sympathetic to the faunus, and the faunus can be convinced to be more sympathetic to the plight of the Kingdoms."

Riesling's smile slowly grew despondent. "It won't be enough, you know, to ward off the Grimm."

"It doesn't have to be," Jaune countered. "It just needs to mitigate that negativity to some extent. No, my solution is cooperation. There are plenty of unused resources in the Kingdoms, hell, even in Vale itself, and there are plenty of idle hands among the faunus. If the White Fang stop attacking, Huntsmen and resources are freed up for other tasks, especially if the White Fang can help fortify Vale's borders."

Jaune met the Councilman's gaze with clear eyes. "The Grimm are an inevitability _, the one enemy that matters._ Change will be slow, and difficult, but in the end, humanity and faunus will change for the better. The Kingdom of Vale will end up stronger for it."

"You are not wrong," Riesling spoke quietly. "But remember, it takes _two_ people to talk. The Kingdoms could reach out all they want, but if the White Fang refuses to come to the table, there can be no such negotiations."

Jaune's expression shifted into a wry smile.

"Call me an optimist, Councilman _,_ but I got a _good feeling_ the Fang might be willing to talk someday."

Oh?

Riesling frowned. "You believe that the White Fang and the Kingdoms will simply put aside hundreds of years of hatred and fear just like that? Do you believe that these two peoples can simply overturn decades of strife and conflict and work together as one?"

"Yes." Jaune spoke simply.

Riesling closed his eyes.

"You know, I was wrong about you, Jaune Arc."

"How so?"

Riesling chuckled, "I sat here thinking you would simply be a younger version of your father or a male version of Rouge Arc, but here I am, sorely mistaken. I'd spoken about similar things with them, and your answers all differ, not unlike the sun and moon."

Jaune Arc frowned. "How did they answer?"

Riesling's eyes became distant. "With luck, you… _we_ will never have to know." The councilman chuckled. "Still, I'm veering off topic, and I have but one last thing to ask you for tonight."

"What is it?" Jaune's eyes were guarded.

"The hero you wish to become," Riesling spoke slowly. "It's admirable, but following that path will make you no shortage of enemies. It would not even be an impossibility that you may even face disagreements with the very people you believe in. Will you still continue on your path?"

Jaune hesitated, one flicker of uncertainty, one last measure of resistance, before nodding.

"Of course."

"Then, Jaune Arc, youngest child, and only son of Huntsman Alexander Arc and Huntress Athena Lugria-Arc, Scion of the Arc Family, and Heir of Heroes," intoned the Seventh Councilman Mattew Riesling. "I heard you wanted to enter Beacon?"

* * *

The Councilman reached out his hand in invitation.

Sapphire Arc raised a coy eyebrow.

Around them, the various assorted men and women that counted themselves in the Mistralian Elite burst into incessant chattering and whispering.

Even in private events such as these, loose words would still find their way into curious ears.

Sapphire Arc's lips shifted into her usual charming smile, and she took the Councilman's hand, heeled feet gracefully gliding across the polished floors as if they were ice.

If Rouge, Viola, or Indigo could see her now, Sapphire had no doubts that they'd disapprove, saying that she was wasting her time. From a certain point of view, they were right. She had spent years of her valuable time engaging in small talk with the fat, lazy, sleazy, and corrupt when she could have taken to the frontlines in the war for humanity's survival.

Make no mistake, sometimes, Sapphire Arc agreed with her sisters, but tonight was not one of those times.

 _No, tonight was the culmination of years of effort._

The Councilman, young among his peers, _and so, so stupid_ , grasped her waist as much as propriety would allow. Sapphire Arc, in turn, hung on his shoulder, her other hand being taken in his.

Semblances were always an interesting field of study, and while Semblances were truly unique to every single sapient being, there were always exceptions. While the Schnee all possessed the same Semblance (Sapphire suspected inbreeding), the Arcs all seemed to possess Semblances that ran on a certain theme.

Battlefield Control.

Sapphire allowed herself to smirk, sending another wave of frenzied chit-chat on her erstwhile audience. Where her sisters would disagree, this battlefield was hers.

"Councilman," Sapphire leaned in close, her breath tickling his ear. "I just want to say that I truly _appreciate_ all the support you've shown for me."

"It's of no matter, my dear," the Councilman spoke levelly, _yet she could feel his heart race_. "Your charities and initiatives do Mistral, nay, Remnant an entire world of good. I would be remiss in my duties to not support such noble endeavors."

Sapphire laughed, a crisp, refreshing sound that she _could feel spurring his blood into racing._ She moved her hand to cup his face. The man's aura was as she expected, weak, sleeping, dormant, unawakened, _vulnerable._

Her aura bled into his bloodstream.

This one was more or less hers now, but it never hurt to be sure. _Just to be safe, she caressed his cheek, and spiked the levels of oxytocin, adrenaline, dopamine, and serotonin swirling around in his brain._

With one last twirl, the two ended the dance, but before they could part, Sapphire whispered one last thing in his ear.

" _If there's anything I could do for you, Councilman, anything at all…"_

The Councilman simply smiled, but she could feel _more_ than what he was letting on. Though his ironclad control attempted to reassert itself despite his youth and inexperience, she could feel exactly what was going on beneath that pretty little skull.

Sapphire Arc simply winked, and even as she began to walk away, she flared her aura, a dazzling marine blue into the crowd.

They cheered, even as Sapphire colored their souls blue. All eyes were on her, tittering, whispering, praising, hating, detesting, worshipping. Some of her crowd, particularly the people she'd hadn't been able to get close to had still been able to resist, but still, it wasn't like they'd notice.

The rest? The people Sapphire had had years to influence?

Sapphire smiled.

Even if she disappeared and failed to reapply her aura on theirs, her influence would remain on their bodies for months, perhaps _years._

There was a lull in the festivities, and Sapphire had raised her glass for a toast.

She grinned, and let the waves of her aura wash upon her captive audience. This was her battlefield, and this was her domain. She was the seas and oceans to the east of Mistral. She was the wine and champagne entering polished lips. She was the acid and bile churning in stomachs and intestines. She was the precious lifeblood flowing in each heart, vein, and artery.

"Esteemed ladies and gentlemen," Sapphire began, her voice soft. "I am truly pleased to see so many of you here this evening, standing by me in support."

Self-praising nods and polite applause sounded through the room.

 _Their time would come, and at their own hands._

"We live in uncertain times," her cold blue eyes stalked the crowds. "Despite the best efforts of my beloved sister, Rouge Arc, Vacuo remains a chaotic wasteland, with warlords rising and falling every week. Atlas itself maintains its choking grasp on Remnant with its dust and armed forces, and only escalate further. Order is being lost in Vale, its defenders unable to stem the tide of the White Fang and the Grimm."

"Where Vacuo reverts to barbarism and chaos, Remnant's greatest philosophers and scholars call Mistral home. Where Atlas tightens its grip on the world like the tyrants of old, it is Mistral that remembers their glorious and artful downfall. Where Vale grows drunk on its own prosperity and falls, it is Mistral that perseveres through both fortune and misfortune."

She reached out her hands.

"Where the other Kingdoms give in to decadence, to chaos, and to their own greed, Beautiful Mistral stands strong! We are Mistral, the Eastern Wind, and with your gracious support, we will restore order and civilization to Remnant!"

A cheer rose from her distinguished crowd. Among their newcomers, slowly, she could feel her aura penetrate small holes into theirs.

"Esteemed, honoured, guests," Sapphire bowed her head, and she smiled her first genuine smile for the night. _"Thank you for your generous donations to the Arc Foundation."_

* * *

"General Sakaki," Viola Arc inclined her head respectfully, even with her blade caressing the general's neck. "If it makes you feel any better, we really would've preferred to meet you under much better circumstances."

Indigo Arc nodded her agreement, stepping over the unconscious forms of the general's personal bodyguard. It had taken days of observation, but they'd been able to remove them without a single soul the wiser.

"Viola and Indigo Arc," the old general muttered, no trace of fear in the eyes of the old huntsman. "At the risk of sounding like an old cliché, you're not getting away with this."

"Oh?" Viola raised an eyebrow, sheathing her weapon.

"How so?" Indigo sank into an armchair.

"Don't play dumb," General Sakaki of the Atlas Military sighed. "Huntresses of your caliber would've noticed that you were being monitored. This big of a move wouldn't go unnoticed by the likes of Ironwood and his pet Schnee."

The Arc Twins, as one, shrugged nonchalantly.

The General leaned back on his chair. "So, what's the deal now? You gonna kill me?"

"Kill you?" Viola grinned. "And waste weeks of hard work? Why would we ever do something like that?"

The General paused. "You got Ironwood to put me in charge of investigating _you._ I'm _flattered_ at your trust. I assume this is why the two specialists previously in charge of the investigation disappeared?"

The Arc Twins merely grinned.

The General rubbed his chin. "Call it morbid curiousity, but how'd you know I would be assigned to this task next, instead of another specialist? A general leading an investigation is the exception, rather than the norm."

"General," Indigo smiled. "Because Ironwood, for all his faults, knows how to delegate well. We anticipated you going after us simply because you would be the best person to send against us."

"The fact," Viola continued, almost immediately, almost naturally. "That you were also the individual we desperately needed to meet was merely a rather fortuitous circumstance."

The general frowned. "Explain."

Indigo's smile remained the same, too-perfect curve. "You are the best person to send against us simply because, unlike the specialists, you were once one of Atlas'… or should I say _Mantle_ 's huntsmen. Where the Specialists were given standardized training and always operated with reliance on technology and numbers, you know how a huntsman thinks, you know how _we_ think _._ "

"And that's precisely why we went to such great risks to meet you," Viola spoke, echoing her twin's smile. "You understand it, the sacrifice. You remember what it feels like, to step into the Grimmlands and fight, with all your cunning and strength, against monsters your superior in every aspect."

The General's face looked as if it were hewn from granite.

Viola's smile steadily dropped. Her eyes lost their mirth, and were replaced with a grim solidarity. "You remember what it was like, abandoning pride to survive, throwing away honor to slay your foes."

"Weapons were not as powerful as they were back then, and our mastery of dust did not yet translate to many combat options." Indigo entered. "You won by crawling through the mud and half-eaten bodies of your comrades to set ambushes. You defeated hordes of Grimm by sacrificing civilians as bait. You fought through that despair because you _knew_ you were fighting for the greater good."

"Tell us, General Sakaki," Viola spread her arms. "This Kingdom of _Atlas_ , do you believe that what they do is for the greater good of Remnant and her people?"

"You two have yet to explain why you wished to meet me," the General hissed through gritted teeth.

"I take it that answer is no," Viola answered.

The General remained silent.

"Tell us, General. This rank of yours…" Indigo leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. "How much change have you been able to realize since you accepted your position?"

The General's eyes grew sharper.

Viola leaned forward herself, mirroring her sister. "Tell us, General, your comrades, your other friends and allies from Mantle, your teammates, brothers and sisters-in-arms, where are they now?"

The General's fists clenched, knuckles becoming white.

Viola leaned forward, and whispered into his ear. "Your comrades are either dead, forgotten, or reassigned to mining camps in the Grimmlands. Your role as general is to be nothing more than a figurehead for the 'peaceful' transition of Mantle into Atlas, forging bureaucracy and luxury into a gilded cage. Atlas is a warmongering, domineering state bullying the other Three Kingdoms into submission."

The General took a deep breath, his face would express nothing but calm, if not for all the nerves on it swelling and throbbing in rage.

"What," The General snarled. "Are you planning?!"

Indigo smiled. "We'd love to explain, but that would depend on your next-next step."

"Next-next?" The General sneered. "What's my next step, then?"

As soon as the words left the elderly man's mouth, fists began banging on the locked door to his office.

" _General Sakaki?!"_ thundered the voices of Atlesian soldiers. _"General Sakaki, are you alright?! Sir, answer us!"_

"Your next step?" Viola mused. "I believe your next step would be to –"

* * *

 _She should've acted sooner._

"Rouge, we've received a reply from our probes in Western Vacuo, and their warriors say they would be amenable to our cause…" came the voice of Sienna Arc.

 _Perhaps, if she acted sooner, she could've averted all of this…_

"Viola and Indigo have begun their gambit," Sienna recited, eyes on her scroll. "And should they prove successful, we could then count, perhaps a fifth of the Atlas Military, the old guard, as our allies."

 _Mom and Dad just smiled and told them to trust in Ozpin, but they were blind!_

"Viridian is still setting up her network, and should take some time before she finishes," Sienna continued. "Increased White Fang activity in Vale should distract Ozpin and give her time to prepare, however."

Rouge Arc, sword strapped to her hip, uniform prim, proper, and functional under her Arc plate, turned to regard her sister and assistant.

"Anything on Bianca?" Rouge frowned. "Last I heard, she was in Mistral."

"Nothing," Sienna bit her lip. "And… there's still nothing about Jaune."

Her fists tightened, neatly trimmed nails digging into her palm.

"Goddammit," Rouge sighed.

"When Viridian gets her network up and running, we'll be able to find him," Sienna declared, placing a light hand on the eldest sister's shoulder.

"Him and whoever the hell _dared_ to take him," Rouge snarled. "I'll carve through the damn Kingdoms if I have to! We're his big sisters! _We set a precedent, damn it!_ "

"Indeed," Sienna had a small smile on her face. "I remember it as if it were yesterday."

"Hah," Rouge chuckled. "We sure showed them didn't we?"

"We sure did." Sienna grinned.

Both the sisters smiled, a picture of serenity against the thundering cacophony of bullheads and forklifts in their background.

There were Four Great Kingdoms. If you'll read into it, the very act of calling them 'Great' meant there were Kingdoms that weren't so great. There was more than just Vale, Mistral, Vacuo, and Atlas, key word being 'was'. The Grimm were a wonderful way to punish mediocrity.

Ruined castles and palaces, empty husks that were once cities and settlements, statues, fountains, and other architectural wonders that were once beautiful, all of them were scattered through Remnant. There were cities that looked as if they were carved out of a single mountain of crystal and marble. There were islands so laden with rare deposits of gravity dust that they floated high above in the sky. There were empty palaces that dug deep underground, their hollow halls painted red by lava and magma.

The sisters watched as the _true huntsmen_ unloaded crate after crate of dust and food. They watched as more and more of the _true huntsmen_ stepped off of bullheads and into the Vacuoan sands. They watched as more and more _true heroes_ answered their call and bore arms in the name of _Arc_.

She'd been preparing for a _decade._

Rouge gazed at the old arches and pillars that made up the old citadel she used as her headquarters. Each arch was masterfully carved and formed, grand images of leaves and birds and people hewn from combinations of sandstone, dust, and earth. They'd dug underground and uncovered vast networks and grids that supplied dust and fresh water for what must have been a great civilization.

Humanity had plenty of warnings of what would happen if they failed, and yet, it persisted in its foolish endeavors.

That needed to change.

 _They_ were the only ones that could change it.

"Rouge?" Sienna whispered.

"Yeah?" the eldest Arc replied.

"Despite what you told Sapphire and everyone else, we would've continued with this even if Jaune hadn't been taken," Sienna tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Right?"

"I'm…" Rouge drew a cigarette, and lit it with a rub of her fingers. "Not quite sure." With a far-off look in her eyes, she continued, "Sapphire and the Twins, not to mention mom and dad would've opposed us, then we'd have backed down. With Jaune gone we can…"

"Unite the Seven," Sienna put a cigarette in her mouth, and leaned closer to Rouge. "Sapphire and everyone else wouldn't have readily agreed otherwise, right?"

"Yeah," Rouge lit Sienna's cig.

Sienna took a drag.

Rouge took a drag.

"…Do you think this makes us bad people?" Sienna whispered.

"Hah!" Rouge barked out a laugh. "Good one, Sienna."

"… A lot of people are going to be hurt by this." Sienna mused.

"Acceptable losses," Rouge closed her eyes. "It's for the greater good of Remnant."

"Cold," Sienna commented.

"We huntsmen have paid the price for Remnant's safety with blood," Rouge shrugged. "In the end, we do this for the people."

"Would it really not be possible to work with Ozpin, or the Councils, or Atlas for this?"

"We can't," Rouge shook her head. "Gods know Ozpin could've taken control whenever he wanted to, but he's too busy chasing after legends and fairytales. The Councils, while they are effective at maintaining order, are too busy holding onto a dysfunctional system. Atlas's vaunted military are simply glorified dogs of old strongmen."

Rouge turned to her sister and confidante. " _We are at war_ , Sienna, and the Kingdoms have deluded themselves into believing it is peace."

Sienna blew a wisp of smoke into the sky.

Rouge paced a few steps, a disdainful sneer marring her otherwise handsome features. "Ozpin has his head in the clouds, wasting his men and political clout on esoteric fantasies. The Councils would literally die if for a brief moment, their illusions of peace and order were to fall. As for Atlas? You could trace nearly half of all the strife in Remnant to their schemes."

Rouge's aura had begun to flare, her eyes had begun to glow, and smoke, not just from her cigarette, began to billow out from her mouth.

"We are huntresses, sister," Rouge put a hand on blade. "We stand astride this world, holding loyalties to no Kingdom or Master. We have no philosophy, no ideology except for one – _that we will safeguard humanity_."

Rouge drew her sword, a magnificent longsword forged of white Arc duststeel. The hilt itself was forged in the shape of a glyph, and decorated with multitudes of red dust crystals of the highest quality. Carvings and filigree reminiscent of roaring flames decorated the blade, allowing for the most efficient imbuing of aura she had ever felt.

"We will defend humanity," Rouge swore. " _From themselves, if we must._ "

Sienna fixed her glasses, and her expression became unreadable.

"Everyone else would see this as a thinly-veiled excuse for a power-grab," Sienna finally shrugged.

"They're not wrong," Rouge grunted. "Humanity is under threat, and _we_ are the only ones that can stop it. Either we allow the corruption to fester and rot, or we tear them out and _live."_

Sienna merely finished the cigarette, staring into the night skies.

"Are you with me, Sienna?" Rouge smirked, reaching out a fist.

"Kind of too late to back down now, sis." Sienna smiled, bumping it.

Rouge gasped theatrically, both hands flying to her chest. "You doubt the righteousness of our cause?!"

Sienna snorted.

Rouge finished her cig, and with a snap of her fingers, turned the thing into ashes.

The sun had begun to peek in the horizon, splashing scarlet into the night and painting the sands gold.

The warm rays of the early sun bathed the hollow palace in light, revealing the hundreds of bullheads and huntsmen rallying to her call.

A new dawn, a new day was rising.

Rouge didn't know why, but she was suddenly overcome with the urge to speak.

"Let the games begin," she murmured.

Rouge's scroll rang, rousing her from her reverie. In one efficient motion, she'd withdrawn her scroll from her pocket and opened the device. There, mockingly displayed on her screen was a very simple message, courtesy of Viola and Indigo in Atlas.

" _Winter is Coming."_

Rouge blinked.

"Aw, fuck."

* * *

Jaune yawned.

With a grunt, Jaune opened the backdoor to The Club. The sirensong of his sweet, warm bed was audible even from the backstreets of Vale.

He had just taken a handful of steps into the Club before he realized something was off. He couldn't put his finger to it… It was on the tip of his tongue, like, _like_ there was some important detail he was missing. But _what?_ What could it possibly be?

Jaune took another step before an immaculate, bladed white heel smashed dead on his face, throwing him to the floor.

 _Oh, there it was._

"Oh, hey Mel," Jaune grunted. "Sorry I'm late."

"Jaune?!" Melanie Malachite exclaimed, sea-green eyes wide, kicking leg still outstretched and raised.

Jaune quickly schooled his features to a stoic, emotionless mask. Though she had her heels on, Melanie was dressed in her usual sleepwear, which consisted of… I dunno, _just_ a gloriously small shirt that just barely reached her hips.

Sneaking glances at her wonderful, creamy, _silky-smooth_ toned thighs and calves edging his peripheral vision, Jaune almost wished she'd kick him again.

Still… something felt off. Something was still missing, something important, something that made this place a _home…_ But what, what could it be –

Bloody scarlet glinted in front of him, followed by a red blur, the sound of feet slipping on the floor, a shriek, and a crash.

"Oh. Evening, Miltia," Jaune waved a hand.

"Ggghrrbhbr," greeted Miltiades Malachite, facedown, reacquainting herself with her good old friend, Mr. Floor.

Jaune smiled, despite the fact that he still hadn't established eye contact, still stoically focusing his vision on the wonderfully dull wall behind Melanie. He didn't know it was possible, but Miltia found ways to wear even _less_ to bed.

Junior'd threatened to kill him if he even thought about doing anything to his girls under his roof.

Jaune had laughed it off.

Then Junior had threatened to leave him, choosing to live instead in an apartment on the other side of town, leaving him in the tender mercies of said girls.

In response, Jaune had thrown himself at his feet and begged the big man not to leave him alone.

As if on cue, a cold, dead hand had grasped his shoulder, sending chills up his spine and lowering the room temperature several noticeable degrees.

"Oh, sup, Penny," Jaune greeted, ignoring the fact that his instincts were screaming that no one was behind him, he made extra sure.

"Salutations, friend!" came Penny's cheerful reply. "What's that you have tucked behind your arm?"

Jaune grinned, and the Twins leaned forward to get a better look. Indeed, held under his arm was a simple white cardboard box. If Miltia's eyes didn't deceive her, the box was imprinted with the crest of the Kingdom of Vale.

"I'm glad you asked, Pence," Jaune beamed a smile so bright Miltia's head began to ache. "See I wanted to thank you guys for the assist, so I asked myself, _what would girls like you appreciate?"_

"Money?" Melanie remarked.

"A few hours bereft of your presence?" Miltia remarked.

"Working arms and legs?" Penny remarked, wires wrapped around her neck, looking like the quintessential hanged man. "The meaning to our wretched existence?"

Jaune's grin only got wider with each answer. "Oh _please_ guys, I got all of you something _better._ "

Despite the sleep-deprivation and the otherworldly light gleaming from Penny's eyes, the girls grew curious. Intrigued, the three girls leaned forward and –

"TA- _DA!"_ Jaune opened the box.

Three pairs of green eyes widened. Melanie blinked, Penny gasped, despite not needing air, and Miltia –

"Jaune?" Miltia asked.

"Yeah?"

"What _is_ this?"

Jaune grinned.

"I got you guys a creampie."

Indeed, nestled within the box was a round pastry. Its perfectly baked exterior whispering promises of sweet rewards within, yet, just as simply, behind that wonderful golden crust could easily be a gaping void, crushing hopes and dreams. Beneath the veneer of wonderful, crisp, yet moist bake, mankind, in its despair, would attempt to reach out for joy and happiness, willfully ignoring the wings that burned as they neared the sun.

Some people on Remnant would call such a thing a pie, yes.

Miltia opened her mouth, yet language refused to do her bidding.

Penny, noticing her friend's plight, moved in to assist. "This is a very thoughtful gift, friend Jaune."

Melanie simply closed her eyes and began counting backwards, in ancient … Valean? _Valic? Remnantese?_

"Jaune," Miltia asserted command over her tongue.

"Yeah, Miltia?" Jaune smiled.

"Like, what the fuck."

"You're welcome, Miltia!"

"No!" Miltia's hands massaged her temples. "I mean _why."_

"Ohh," Jaune beamed like the sunrise. "My dad told me that if you really wanted to make a girl happy, I should give them a creampie!"

Melanie ran a hand through her hair.

"It works!" Jaune pouted, defending his illustrious father. "When my dad and my mom get into fights, they go out for a bit, and my dad gets mom a creampie. When they get back, mom is happy!"

Miltia paused. "How many sisters do you have again?"

Jaune raised an eyebrow. "Seven."

"And all of a sudden, everything is so clear," Miltia murmured.

"Guys," Hei Xiong Junior padded down the hallway, trying and failing to stifle a yawn. "What's all the ruckus? Why are you guys still up?"

"Oh hey Junior!" Jaune waved, and before Miltia could stop him, he continued speaking.

" _I gave the girls a creampie!"_

* * *

 **Chapter 18 End. Wait, no, fuck that.**

 **\- To Be Continued.**

* * *

 **Like, I dunno, ten years earlier (?)**

It was Jaune's birthday!

Little Emily giggled as she combed her hair. She made sure everything was _perfect_ ; she was wearing her prettiest dress, her shoes were neat and snug, and… and Jaune's present was on the table beside the door.

Taking the present, Little Emily bade her smiling parents (her dad was warning her about something called 'the moves') and skipped out the door.

She clutched her gift tighter, and her cheeks began to flush. She had picked out this gift herself, and she really, _really_ hoped this would make Jaune smile.

 _St-Still, this didn't mean she liked him or anything!_

She looked up from the beaten dirt path, and her heart skipped a beat.

There, in a few minutes' walk, was the large, yet, simple homestead that was the Arc Manor.

Her palms began to grow cold, _would Jaune like her gift?_ She couldn't bear to even think about his bright blue eyes dull and downcast.

 _No!_ She had to be brave! Everything would work out in the end! She took a big step forward and –

 _Squish._

Emily blinked. Her foot had sunk ankle-deep; the dirt road giving way to her foot, pulling it in like it was quicksand.

 _What was going on?!_

Quickly Emily steadied her other foot and tried to pull out of the veritable sinkhole, but no! - _Her other foot was stuck too!_

Both her feet snared by the ground, the little girl fell down with a shriek. Though she cushioned herself with her arms, the mud began to pull at her elbows and forearms.

Centimeter by centimeter, inch by inch, Emily sank into the mud, her pleas for help left unheard.

The last thing Emily saw before the mud pulled her under was her precious gift, lying discarded and useless on the dirt road.

 _It was for Jaune!_ She wanted to scream. She had saved months' worth of her allowance for it. She had asked her parents and all her friends about what Jaune would want. _Please! Someone, anyone!_

As if to answer her prayers, she saw the unmistakable form of two heavy leather boots landing on the ground.

The two feet walked closer and closer.

 _Help me!_ Emily tried to scream. _Save my present!_

One of the boots rose, and fell upon her present.

The mud pulled, and Emily's pretty-haired head was pulled under the cold, writhing mud.

"Target Tango is down," Sienna Arc reported. "I repeat, Tango is down, over."

"Excellent job!" Rouge Arc cackled. "Viri, and Saphy have also just taken down targets of their own. We'll be done with this shit before sundown!"

"Rouge?" Sienna's voice was unsure. "You really think we should be doing this? I mean, I agree with you, but shouldn't we at least let Jaune's boyfrie– _male friends_ through?"

" _Never,"_ Rouge narrowed her eyes dangerously. "Give an inch and eventually, they'll get a mile. There will be no compromise, no shortage of efforts, and _no mercy._ They want our brother? Then unless they survive each of our challenges, and the ancient defenses of the Manor, I say they're _not good enough."_

"I-I don't know, Rouge," Sienna shook like a leaf. "I don't think I could follow these directives, I –"

"Do it and I'll get you that pie you like so much."

"… Deal."

"Alright then, over and out."

Rouge closed the transmission, and then leaned back on her recliner.

"Filthy little skanks," Rouge cackled, wisps of fire bursting from her throat. "Our little brother is too good for you, go away!"

* * *

 **\- To Be Continued.**


	20. Chapter 19: Departure

Winter Schnee frowned.

She paced on the sandstone floors of the ruined palace in Eastern Vacuo, her duststeel heels echoing on forgotten floors. Desert sands had begun to flood what was once an architectural wonder of a civilization long past.

Something was here, she just knew it.

Smaller feet shuffled hurriedly on the stone, and Winter turned to regard her erstwhile assistant.

"Soleil," Winter greeted, hands behind her back as she surveyed the structure. "Did you find anything?"

"No, ma'am," Ciel reported. Though her posture was straight, her crooked beret and rumpled uniform spoke of the exhausting pace of Winter's investigation. "We've combed through the palace and collected information in the neighboring towns. So far, we've noticed nothing unusual – no bullheads or trucks."

"Hmm," Winter pondered.

They were here on General Ironwood's orders, and despite her recent _failures_ , the General wouldn't send them all the way here for nothing. If Ironwood said the Arcs were diverting and skimming off Atlesian military supplies and property, then as far as she was concerned, it was the truth.

Winter stared out into the sunny desert, waves and dunes blowing and rolling in the wind as if it were a golden ocean.

Wheels and threads left no tracks on such sands. Nearby villages and settlements were too spread apart to notice a formation of travelling bullheads. The roads branched and spread out to a countless number of paths.

If there was anyone here, Winter and her forces possessed not the means to pursue them. Whoever was here was long gone.

Winter, however, looked up.

Something, or perhaps more accurately, a whole lot of someones _were_ here, at the very least. That fact, she didn't doubt for a second.

"Make one final patrol," Winter said at last. "Check for any signs of life; burnt-out campfires, chopped-down trees, latrines, bullet casings, the like."

"Yes Ma'am." Ciel nodded, before turning on her heel and briskly walking out the room.

Winter closed her eyes.

No, she had no solid evidence of these alleged Arc bullheads and trucks, but…

Her eyes opened, sharp as daggers, cold as her namesake.

There was this lingering sense of _purpose_ charging the air.

It was something… intangible, akin to seeing the frenzied madness of a mob, or the almost uncanny synergy and teamwork of a trained squad. Winter closed her eyes once more, and she could almost smell pungent sweat off the backs of Huntsmen and Huntresses as they lugged crates and barrels around. She could smell the subdued, mysterious smells of refined dust, and she could feel the tension in each body as they carefully carried them around.

For an almost ephemeral moment, she wasn't standing in the hot Vacuoan sands on a sunny morning, but instead, she was ankle-deep in the Atlesian snows of Camp Omega; watching spellbound as a young man, blonde of hair, raised his blade against an unending tide of darkness.

She was, at least with heels, taller than him. This she knew, but in that very moment, he was…

"Big," Winter murmured. "Too big. Larger than life."

She opened her eyes, and just like that, the vision, the smells, they were all gone. Everything but that one, pounding feeling.

Winter clicked her tongue, and began walking to her ship, thoughts filled with nothing, _no one_ else but a certain white-cloaked Arc.

She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms.

"Jaune Arc," Winter Schnee murmured, glaring into the light. " _What are you up to?"_

* * *

" –And then the Twins and Penny like, bent over, and I gave them all a creampie!" Jaune Arc beamed, his toothy grin almost as bright as the sun.

Where Jaune Arc's teeth glinted brightly, Pyrrha Nikos' cheeks flushed scarlet. "A-all three of them?!" the Mistralian exclaimed. _"_ _A-at the same time?!"_

"All three of them," Jaune whispered, his voice husky, his breath tickling her ear. _"_ _At the same time."_

 _"_ _A-and"_ Pyrrha couldn't meet his eyes. "Th-they were _okay_ with it?"

"Okay with it?" Jaune chuckled, a low, wonderful sound that made Pyrrha curl her toes. "I'm pretty sure they _loved_ it, Pyr."

"I mean –" Pyrrha had to avert her gaze. "Th-they were okay with sharing…"

"Oh, Pyr," Jaune smiled, hooking her arm around her shoulder. "I have _more_ than enough to go around."

Pyrrha opened her mouth to speak, but no sound would come out.

"Why, Pyr," Jaune purred. "You sound almost… _curious."_

"I… err, ahh," Pyrrha stammered. My, was it just her, or was it hot in Vale?

Jaune looked around, lazy smile still adorning his face. It was early in the morning, the two sat on the tastefully cushioned chairs of Coco's Corner, the coffee shop presumably owned and operated by Coco. Said Coco was huddled over behind the counter, obsessively smelling a sack of coffee beans, and sobbing miserably. Judging from the drool dripping down her mouth, she appeared to be torn between making a profit and drinking her inventory.

"How convenient," Jaune's voice sent shivers up Pyrrha's spine. "There's no one around, maybe you and I could –"

For the first time in her life, Pyrrha beat a hasty, undignified retreat, squeaking all the while.

No! She had called him out here for a purpose! She- she couldn't keep this covered up from him. She had chosen Vale over her native Mistral for a reason! She had to tell her f- _friend_ the truth before she left for Beacon!

"Jaune!" Pyrrha cried out, her voice several octaves higher. Now that she thought about it, she was _extremely_ happy that there was almost no one around for this. "I- I have to tell you something!"

Jaune blinked and sipped his drink, a light, sweet coffee that had to be the weakest, most-dressed up thing on the menu. Pyr was paying again somehow.

"I –" Pyr shut her eyes.

Would he reject her?

No, it would honestly hurt less if he did. She'd done this before, and the people she'd thought friends had _changed._ Where a friend would once speak freely, they would instead remain silent, looking to her for tacit approval. Where a teammate would once ask for a friendly spar and advice, they would instead bow their heads meekly so as to not 'waste her time'.

She opened her eyes and met Jaune's gaze. His bright blue eyes were wide and worried, his posture radiating sympathy and compassion.

Could she bear to lose her only true friend?

Pyrrha Nikos took a deep breath.

Of all the people in Vale, she met him.

She had to have met him for a reason.

She met him, and he led her to where she could defend the innocent against the schemes of the White Fang. She met him, and together, almost like partners, they fought against the overwhelming power of the White Swordsman and succeeded.

This had to be fate.

 _This had to be destiny._

Putting her stock in destiny, she opened her eyes.

From over the counter, she could hear moaning and crunching. It would appear that Miss Coco Adel had decided to forego the cumbersome process of preparing a drink, opting instead to eat her precious beans.

She held Jaune's gaze, and slowly removed her thick sunglasses, cerulean blues of ocean and sky meeting emerald greens of forest and meadow. With quivering hands, she removed her hood from her head, unfurling fine, smooth hair as scarlet as passion itself. With cold fingers, she stripped off her thick coat.

Jaune's eyes slowly widened in what Pyrrha believed was recognition.

"My name," she bit her lip. "Is Pyrrha Nikos."

Jaune dropped his cup, mouth agape even as the expensive porcelain (that she was totally paying for) shattered into a thousand pieces, never to serve its purpose again, _never again to be made whole._

"Pyrrha…" Jaune murmured, realization flooding into his blue orbs. _"_ _Nikos?!"_

 _No…_

"Oh my God!" Jaune rose to his feet, eyes widening, mouth twitching into –

 _No. NO!_

Pyrrha's heart fell.

"You're –" Jaune exclaimed. Already Pyrrha could see the light in his beautiful eyes dim, already she could hear the empty praises and platitudes that would no doubt echo from his lips. Already she could feel the identity of her friend give way to someone else.

Bitterly, Pyrrha wondered what Jaune would do next? Would he ask her to sign an autograph and never speak to her again? Would he perhaps attempt to use her in an attempt to win easy popularity or as a foot-in-the-door for show business? Would he turn her into an idol, considering himself unworthy of her friendship?

She grit her teeth. At least he might not attempt to view her as an easy conquest, given how many girls he appeared to 'know'.

For some reason, her eyes had begun to sting.

Jaune rose from his seat.

Pyrrha bit her lip. _She was stupid. STUPID!_ When had she become so naïve as to think the Kingdom next door would be any different? People were people, and people were the same no matter where she went.

Jaune took three steps forward.

 _Was this to be her destiny? Was she fated to be nothing more than a warrior,_ nay, _a weapon? Was she fated to face the darkness and fight alone?_

Jaune hugged her.

All her thoughts came crashing down, her train of thought screeching into a halt.

Startled, she looked into his eyes, and found something she never expected to see.

Sympathy.

 _Huh..?_

Jaune's arms were around her shoulders, and they were warm. He hugged her tighter, and the cold tension in Pyrrha's shoulders began to ebb away.

"It's alright, _Pyrrha,"_ Jaune said her name. "It's fine, don't worry."

He understood..?

"Heh," Jaune chuckled, a far-off look on his face. "I felt the same nearly all my life, even back in school. I… I guess I can relate."

Pyrrha bit back a sob, and leaned into the embrace.

"It'll be alright, Pyr," one of his hands went up and gently caressed her hair. "It'll be alright, _I promise_."

Relief poured into her heart, and Pyrrha buried her face into his strong chest.

He smelled… good.

"I know it's hard, but, take it from me, it _can_ get better!" Jaune held her tighter. "Because…"

 _Because?_ Pyrrha's arms slowly came up and held him too. _Of course. She wasn't alone, she was never alone. There were more people like her out there, who knew the despair of solitude, who knew the pain of…_

"Because I have a stupid name too!" Jaune cried out, tears in his eyes.

 _Wait…_ what?!

From outside the red brick walls of the Coco Corner, Albus the Horse snorted disdainfully before lowering his head into a trough of coffee.

* * *

 **Arc of the Revolution**

 **Chapter 19**

 **Departure**

 _ **"Now with Actual Arc Rebellions!"**_

* * *

Regulation 76: No, we do not need to know how 'hot and bothered' the commanders of pursuing enemies are. Cease commenting on this. We do not need to know, really.

76a. Especially so if said enemy commander is Winter Schnee.

76b. No, we do not care if Winter Schnee has drool dripping down her lip, and if her skin is flushed and slick with sweat. _Do not comment on this._

76c. Doubly so if Pyrrha Nikos is among enemy forces. All members of the New Fang, whether they are Old New Fang, or New New Fang, are also expressly forbidden from commenting on her team name. Yes, we know she is 'Mistralian', _shut up._

76d. By direct order of Subcommander Adam Taurus, Lie Ren is to be shot on sight, regardless of whether or not he appears 'hot and bothered'. Stupid sexy bastard.

76e. Seriously, people, if you're close enough to notice such details, you should probably run _._

 **New New New Fang Rules and Regulations aka "Things New New Fangs of the New Fang are not allowed to do"**

* * *

 **Almost Ten Years Ago…**

Sienna Arc gently laid Emily's mud-encrusted form in her father's arms.

Her father nodded stoically. Some things happened to be done for the greater good. His wife, however, did not appear to share his sentiments.

" _What the hell?!"_ Emily's mother shrieked, pointing a finger at Sienna Arc. "You _drowned_ a little girl in mud –"

Sienna raised a finger. "Actually, she passed out when she was neck deep..."

" _Not the point!"_ Emily's mother stomped her foot. "And _you…"_ she turned to her stonefaced husband. "You _gave them your consent?!"_

"I have," Emily's father spoke dispassionately. "It was necessary. It was for our daughter's protection. It was for our daughter's _own good_."

 _"_ _HOW?!"_ she nearly slapped him. " _How_ can this be in _any way good for our daughter_?!"

"Because that _boy…"_ the father narrowed his eyes dangerously. "Is the favored son of that drunken womanizer, _Alexander Arc."_

As if on reflex, Emily's mother began giggling after hearing Alexander's name. Her cheeks flushed, and her hands unconsciously rubbed her neck, revealing very well-concealed bite marks.

The father paused, slowly setting his daughter over the couch, before turning to face his wife.

"Umm," Sienna fidgeted nervously. "In Jaune's defense, he… takes more after our mom, Athena?"

As if on reflex, Emily's mother began giggling after hearing Athena's name. Her cheeks flushed, and her hands flew to the other side of her neck, revealing even more, albeit smaller bite marks.

The father's jaw dropped to the floor. "But it was Athena… what…?"

"Errm," the mom flinched. "You remember that one time I went for the Parents-Teachers Confere…"

"I'll show myself the door!" Sienna immediately turned on her heel.

"So, that, huh, wow," Emily's father breathed out. "Athena, huh."

"Yeah, they, well, umm, often…"

"… And Athena," Emily's father looked as if he had to exert manual effort over speaking. "She was… good?"

"Umm… yes."

"And this Jaune takes after them?"

Sienna squeaked.

" _Both…_ " the father's fists tightened. "Of them?"

Sienna Arc gave no response.

Both father and mother turned to look at her, only to see empty space where the Arc Huntress once stood. Sienna Arc had fled.

The father turned to the mother. "So…"

His wife looked up. "Yeeees?"

Emily's father blinked. "You think they're looking for one more?"

His wife smiled at him sweetly. "I'm sure we could talk things over with them."

Resting comfortably on the couch, the muddied form of Emily rolled to her side, snoring peacefully.

* * *

Alexander Arc awoke with a scream.

"Nightmare, Alex?" Athena Arc spoke, her head rested on his shoulder.

"Yeah," Alexander breathed, shifting as much as the tight bullhead seat could allow. "I dreamt that the kids found out about our… uhh, _Parents Teachers Association meetings._ "

Athena grinned, her cheeks flushing a slight pink. "Those were fun."

"Yeah," Alexander grinned, before his expression grew downtrodden. "A real shame the school burned down for some reason."

"Yeah," Athena echoed, before smiling encouragingly. "But on the bright side, I suppose we should be thankful that the girls volunteered to home-school Jaune."

"Yeah," Alex sighed contentedly. "I have to admit, I had my reservations since that one time Bianca killed Jaune's puppy, but I'm just glad everyone turned out right."

"Yeah," Athena nodded, sparing a glance at the window. Beyond the sturdy bullhead window was almost nothing but pure, unadulterated green. Lush, jade forests and mighty trees veiled the verdant grass as if it was a bride, and there, peeking over the horizon, Athena could see the mighty walls of Vale.

Alexander brushed his hand over hers.

 _They were home._

With but a few words, Alex had convinced their pilot to open up the hatch doors, and in but a few seconds, the stuffy bullhead air was replaced with the sweet smell of dewed grass and wet wood.

Alex wished the bullhead could go faster. He could almost see the shadows cast by the Old Arc Manor. He could almost hear the creaking of the Manor's aged floorboards, and smell the veritable perfume of Viridian's field of roided-up flowers. He could already feel the longing invitation of his soft, wondrous recliner and the touch of his soft, cool pillow holding his weary head.

Athena Arc nuzzled his neck.

Speaking of which, he could already hear the impossibly loud bass of his state-of-the-art Atlesian-made sound system, as well as the fuckawesome Jacuzzi he'd had installed in the Master's bedroom.

Alexander Arc grinned.

He also couldn't wait to... _test_ the new soundproofing he'd padded all over the Master's.

 _He could not fucking wait to get home._

The bullhead turned, flying towards an airfield, and peering below, Alexander squinted.

He'd been in this Hunting business for quite some time now, and one of the biggest things that separated Veteran Huntsmen from Dead Huntsmen, aside from the rigor mortis (not the smell though), was the ability to tell when something was off.

Athena followed his gaze, and Alex could sense her tense up as well.

Among the milling crowds of people and passengers was someone powerful. Alex blinked, and re-evaluated his observation, make that _two_ people who were powerful.

Athena poked his shoulder, and when he looked, she pointed at two blonde heads, one male, one female, quickly approaching where their bullhead was supposed to land, and they weren't alone. With those two blondes were the dark uniforms of Airport security. Token, but a decent enough welcome, he guessed.

Alex met Athena's inquisitive gaze and shrugged.

There weren't many people who had the balls to challenge them in an airport well within the Valean Walls. Aside from being one of the most well-defended parts of Vale, there were always at least several teams of Huntsmen in it, either arriving or departing, or on standby for emergencies.

Alexander slowly moved his hand to the hilt of his sword.

Someone wanted to start a fight here? Their funeral.

Their bullhead landed. Alexander and Athena disembarked, and while to a casual observer they would seem relaxed, their eyes were darting all around their surroundings, taking immediate stock of anything and any terrain that they could use to their advantage.

A man and a woman, both of them blonde stepped forth as well, flanked on both sides by the threatening forms of the airport security.

Alex blinked, he _knew_ these two.

"Glynda Goodwitch?" Alex asked, tension slipping out of his form. "Tai? What are you guys doing here? What's going on?"

"Alexander, we need you to come with us," Glynda cut in. "Several events have arisen that require your presence."

" _Our_ presence?" Athena Arc asked, hands still on her weapons. "This is highly unusual, Glynda. Would not a secure message have sufficed?"

"Indeed," Glynda sighed. "But this is a rather… delicate situation, to say at the least."

"Delicate," Alexander frowned, looking at all the armed guards just itching to train their guns at him. "When you say delicate, _how_ delicate?"

"Delicate as in even Ozpin is finally paying attention to it," Glynda remarked dryly.

"Wait, _what?_ " Athena's jaw dropped, and her grip on her weapon grew slack. "Are you sure he wasn't just sipping his coffee and nodding off as usual?"

Glynda's expression was grave. "I had him paraphrase my report. He was actually listening this time."

"Holy shit," Alex whispered. "What happened? The Maidens are all dead? The Queen's already taken over the Councils? The Vacuoans embargoed Ozpin's coffee supply? Qrow really turned out to be a pedophile? _What?!"_

"My wife," Taiyang Xiao Long snarled. "Rose from the dead wielding weapons with the Arc Family Crest on them."

"Raven died?" Athena blinked.

"My _other_ wife," Taiyang grit out. "Appeared last night, wielding weapons we believe came from you."

Glynda covered her face with her palm, muttering, "Yes, shout it out to the world, why don't you..?"

"…Wielding Arc Weapons?" Alexander rubbed his chin. "He's got better taste than I thought."

"Yeah, he – _wait,"_ Taiyang sputtered. " _He?!"_

"Hmm, yeah," Alexander cupped his chin. "Would've expected _you_ to be the wife, though. Qrow always did seem to secretly crave control and stability…"

"Summer _Rose."_ Taiyang hissed. "My new wife is _Summer Rose_."

" _Was_ Summer Rose," Alexander pointed out helpfully.

 _"_ _You son of a bitch!"_ Taiyang tackled him to the ground.

Glynda simply stood there, watching in silent mortification, as two of her most respected and powerful colleagues began wrestling on the floor like the children they were. Around her, the security guards serving as her escort began milling about awkwardly and listlessly.

She glared at the guards, eyes radiating malice so intense it scared them more than the terms of the NDA's she'd forced them to sign.

"…It'll be good for Tai," Athena's voice roused her from her reverie.

"Beg your pardon?" Glynda remarked.

"He's stressed," Athena explained. "And by the looks of it, Tai hasn't slept in a while."

"He's out of his depth," Glynda continued, latching onto her train of thought. "This is a complex situation, and being able to punch someone out would be cathartic?"

"Yes," Athena yawned. "A couple of bruises would be preferable to his temper eating him up from the inside later."

 _"_ _RAAAAGGGH!"_ Taiyang screamed as he slugged Alexander in the face.

"…So I see," Glynda sighed, pushing up her glasses. "How do you _cope?_ "

"Well ~" In one smooth move, Athena had wrapped her arm around Glynda's shoulders. When Glynda turned to face her, she was rewarded with a particularly saucy wink.

"Would you like to find out ~?" Athena whispered.

 _"_ _EEEEEERRRGGGKK!"_ Taiyang shrieked as Alexander kneed him in the groin.

* * *

Adam Taurus snarled.

He stretched out his hand to its limits, fingers attempting to claw out that one, stupidly itchy spot on his back.

He failed.

His face twisted into a bloodthirsty sneer under his mask.

" _Damn_ you, Jaune Arc!" Adam slammed an angry fist into his office desk, shattering the cheap wood. That was the third desk he'd need to replace, and the fifty-seventh grievance he'd need to add to the Jaune Arc list.

Adam sunk into his worn, grimy, thronelike armchair. A little, often ignored voice at the back of his mind whispered that maybe he shouldn't have wrecked that table, what with all the costs they were trying to cut, but _come the hell on!_

A soft, clearly-nervous fist rapped on his door.

Adam gave his grunt of 'approval, enter, and affirmative' which totally was never misunderstood with his grunt of 'disapproval, negative, and get the fuck out of my office'.

The door opened, and inside entered the faunus he wanted to see.

Laurel Carnelian flinched when she saw him. _Good_ , Adam nodded, despite Jaune Arc's subversions, he still commanded fear and respect among his subordinates. With a wave of his hand, Adam gestured for her to sit.

Laurel Carnelian took a tentative step forward, and then winced. Adam frowned. While he appreciated being feared, this was just getting annoying, _what was her problem?_

"Umm, i-if I may have permission to speak, sir?" Laurel squeaked.

Adam grunted.

"S-sir?" Laurel's voice was small. "You –uhh, _you stink, sir._ "

Adam's glare turned positively murderous. His weapons, which were stowed away by the corner, somehow flew to his hands.

" _Not that way!_ " Laurel fidgeted. "Umm, w-when was the last time you took a shower?"

The intensity of Adam's glare did not abate, though he had begun using his vaunted weapons to scratch his back.

"Two. _Fucking_. Weeks." Adam hissed through clenched teeth.

"What?!" Laurel was taken aback. "But why?!"

"Jaune Arc grievance number six," Adam recited, the Jaune Arc list of grievances burned into his mind. "In order to cut down costs because of all the refugees _HE_ dumped on us, we had to skimp on _unnecessary_ costs."

"Unnecessary costs?" Laurel echoed.

"Soap, shampoo," Adam's voice spoke of a sharp, fresh pain. "Toiletries, bath water, unless you're willing to bathe in the nearby Grimm-infested lake."

"Is that why all the toilet paper's gone?" Laurel blinked, having just been transferred from their hideouts in downtown Vale. "But what have you been using this entire time?!"

Adam pointed towards his bathroom, and Laurel could see a basketful of really prickly-looking leaves.

"Oh."

Adam raised an eyebrow and leaned in closer to his subordinate. Said subordinate unconsciously held her breath so deep her cheeks puffed up.

"You don't smell horrible," Adam remarked, stepping a few steps back. "Weren't the budgets from the Valean hideouts also cut?"

"We, err…" Laurel stiffened, turning red. "Just started bathing together. It - it was kind of cheaper."

"… Didn't your unit have the largest female to male ratio in the Fang?" Adam blinked.

"… Yes..?"

 _Goddamn it,_ and here he was, trapped in a cave with hundreds of stinking faunus, most of them men, and most of them, Adam included, possessing heightened senses of smell. Yes, Adam Taurus was totally content never finding out that, just like the special snowflakes they believed they were, every faunus stunk in their own different ways.

God, the molten scales and the shed fur were everywhere, and he didn't even want to think about the smell of the _really_ communal latrines.

He didn't have proof, but he pulled out a pen and added another grievance to the list. This was _HIS_ fault somehow.

"Enough _pleasantries,_ Laurel Carnelian," Adam spoke, ignoring the itches tickling his greasy scalp. "I've called you here for a reason. With the brave Lieutenant defeated, by virtue of your seniority, and by being the least incompetent Fang somehow not dead; you shall be entrusted with his duties."

Instead of a resounding 'yes', Laurie merely bobbed her head up and down in a nod, fingers pinched over her nostrils, and holding her breath.

"…I'll take that as a yes."

Laurel's head nodded vigorously.

"Alright, first things first, you've been around the base. How…" Adam sighed. "How's the morale?"

Laurel began madly gesturing anything that could've meant 'the sky is falling', to 'the Arcs are totally plotting a coup'.

Adam sighed, and stepped to the corner of his office, allowing her to breathe normally. Stupid faunus sense of smell…

"Morale is bad, sir," Laurel frowned. "The entire base seems despondent, especially with our failure in the Alchemilla. It was our first big operation in a while, and we've lost a lot of men and resources in the course of the mission. The budget cuts to basic amenities should also be a factor, and I think someone mentioned something about the food…"

" _Yes_ ," Adam shuddered. "The less said about food, the better."

"And, if I may be blunt, sir," Laurel winced. "The base smells like an unholy mix of feet, despair, and moldy cheese."

"Tell me something I don't already know," Adam grumbled.

"Finally, sir," Laurel straightened up, her face becoming unreadable. "Morale is continuing to plummet due to a significant number of desertions that happened in the past month, but there's this detail that doesn't quite make sense…"

Adam narrowed his eyes. "Go on."

"These deserting Fangs, they're taking with them their weapons, armor and ammunition." Laurel frowned. "I was in Vale during the dates they deserted, and we would've known if a Fang faunus would turn himself in to the Kingdom, which leads me to believe that they've gone someplace else."

"Someplace else they'd need their weapons…" Adam suddenly stood straight. "Tell me, did they mention the names 'Kaz Miller' or 'Jaune Arc'?!"

"I-I didn't hear anything about names," Laurel stammered. "But I did hear something about figures in white cloaks approaching certain cliques and groups…"

Adam's blood went cold.

He'd been so focused on simply getting the refugees out as quickly and as completely as possible. He'd been so focused on ensuring that the Fang cells under his command were able to successfully elude heightened Atlesian security. He'd been so focused on investigating Cinder and the Fang groups from outside Vale. He'd been so focused that he'd missed _Jaune Arc usurping his organization from him._

Suddenly, it all made sense.

Why would a privileged _human_ such as Jaune Arc risk his life for oppressed faunus?

 _Jaune Arc needed a distraction._

Adam stood up, pacing around the room.

Jaune Arc had been able to subvert hundreds of his men under his command. In broad daylight, they'd taken Atlesians and shown them around supposedly secured areas. By striking at Omega with his men, he'd drawn the fury of Atlas on his cell. By dumping the rescued miners of Omega under his care, he'd spread their precious funds too thin. And with what happened in Alchemilla…

"Carnelian," Adam interjected. "What do the men think of me?"

"Not well," Laurel shook her head. "I-I've recently heard of what happened in Camp Omega, and, well, with the further embellishment from the refugees…"

"Carnelian," Adam snarled. "Get to the point."

"They're comparing you unfavourably with Jaune Arc." Laurel gulped.

Adam's grip on his Wilt and Blush tightened. _So this was Jaune Arc's game…_

"Word from Alchemilla is also spreading. Almost everyone now's heard of how Jaune Arc saved the task force from Qrow Branwen and the Conciliar Guard –"

Jaune Arc was discrediting him.

With a stunning victory in Omega, Jaune Arc had carved out his own loyalists from his men. With Adam's failure, and Jaune Arc's personal intervention in Alchemilla; the Arc had clearly presented himself as a 'successful' alternative.

What would the Arc have to gain? _Everything._

Jaune could dismantle the Fang from within, and their revolution would end not with a whimper, but resounding applause. They could manipulate the Faunus for their own ends, and betray them when their usefulness had run its course. They could throw the faunus once again to subjugation, only this time through trickery instead of force.

Adam grit his teeth. He'd been outmanuevered. Every day that passed in these conditions eroded Adam's position and strengthened the Arc's and with outside Fang groups entering Vale –

Adam paused.

 _That was it._

Jaune Arc wasn't the only _human_ usurping his command. No, gathering specific cells from the four corners of the map was…

Adam grinned.

"S-sir?" Laurel stood at attention.

"Laurel," Adam gri– _no_ , he bared his teeth. "I need you to do an errand for me…"

* * *

" –And that's what I meant," Pyrene – _no, Pyrrha Nikos_ spoke to her friend. "I guess that's why I overreacted earlier."

The two of them, Jaune Arc and Pyrrha Nikos stood by a small, lovely hill overlooking a nearby airfield. The morning sun had risen, and already, several airships emblazoned with the crest of Beacon had begun to dock.

Not very long now.

Jaune Arc stared at the airships wistfully. Perhaps, in another life, in another time, another world, he would be riding one of them.

 _No._

Jaune Arc shook his head. Some _day_ , he'd be a passenger on one of those ships, a _legitimate_ passenger. He'd be admitted to Beacon with proper papers, with a worthy reputation, and _with a referral from one of the highest authorities in Vale itself._

"Jaune?" Pyrrha's clear voice spoke.

"Hmm, oh sorry, Pyr," Jaune smiled sheepishly. "I was just thinking about stuff. Nothing important, don't you worry."

Pyrrha's brows furrowed worriedly.

"Hey, it's really no big deal," Jaune smiled, much wider this time. "Also, well, I guess I was thinking about what you said."

"Hmm?"

"What you said," Jaune leaned on the rails overlooking the majestic view. "About how people didn't think they were worth your time, and viewed you as some sort of superior or worse, nothing more than a competitor or bar to pass."

"What about it?" Pyrrha leaned on the rails beside him, the gentle winds caressing her hair.

"I, sorry, but… well," Jaune frowned. "I – I can't help but feel jealous."

"Huh?" Pyrrha frowned as well.

"I understand it must've sucked, but…" Jaune raised his hands in a placating gesture. "But, well… It also means that they have super-high expectations of you, right? No matter what you do, people have hope and faith in you. _They believe in you._ "

"I guess so…" Pyrrha took a step closer to him. "Jaune, is everything..?"

"Well," Jaune ran a hand through his hair, chuckling. "I've never really been on any sort of pedestal, like you have. No one really expected much from me, I guess. Like, if my parents and sisters knew I was trying for Beacon, they'd probably tell me not to worry if I had to move back home. How depressing is that?"

"Jaune…" Pyrrha laid a hand on his shoulder.

"I guess…" Jaune's eyes were downcast. "What I'm trying to say is…" Jaune met her gaze, sapphires meeting emeralds. " _I wish people believed in me."_

* * *

" _I wish people believed in me."_

"Brothers and Sisters in arms!" Keppel Azure "Kaz" Miller exclaimed, outfit spotless, sunglasses worn, and chainsword raised. "This is the day!"

Row upon row of white-cloaked warriors, both faunus and human, erupted as one into thunderous applause. Fists pumped into the air. Naked swords were drawn and raised, gleaming up in the air. Chainswords were held over heads and activated, filling the empty halls with fierce buzzing. Men and women, young and old, furry and boring screamed themselves hoarse.

"I have been contacted by our Commander himself!" Kaz swept a hand through the air. " _Jaune Arc is coming here today!"_

Like pouring dust into a flame, the assembled Fangs somehow cheered _harder._

"Sharpen your swords!" Kaz commanded. "Polish your armor!"

" _Jaune!"_ people in the crowd began tearing their clothes.

"Load the dust!" Kaz's hand cut through the air. "Prepare the ships!"

 _"_ _JAUNE!"_ hundreds of angry fists punched into the air.

" _RAISE THE BANNERS!"_ Kaz swung his chainsword.

 ** _"_** ** _JAUNE!"_**

From all around the hall, white and gold banners of the moon-crowned beast unfurled. The Arc Weapon Pennydin: Ferrum Mors stood proudly in the background, its metal gleaming, its mighty frame almost repaired. In the very midst of the crowd, eager hands raised up a rare picture of Jaune Arc onto a high pedestal.

 _"_ Jaune! _Jaune!_ _ **JAUNE!"**_

En route to Atlas, Winter Schnee felt the inexplicable urge to draw her sword. Producing a scroll from her pocket, she beheld a rare picture of Jaune Arc and shook her fist angrily.

North of Vale, Adam Taurus's arm snapped to the side, letting loose a dart. The dart flew, straight and true, missing the picture of Blake Belladonna, but piercing the eye of Jaune Arc.

At the heart of Vale, the Councilman Riesling would pause in his work, and smirk.

* * *

"I guess…" Jaune's eyes were downcast. "What I'm trying to say is…" Jaune met her gaze, sapphires meeting emeralds. "I wish people believed in me a little more, alright?"

Pyrrha leaned on the railing beside him, her hand still squeezing his shoulder comfortably.

Jaune smiled, and pointed at the far-off shape of Beacon. "I'll get there eventually, eh?"

Pyrrha responded with a small smile of her own. "I'll be waiting, no, _expecting_ you next semester then?"

"Well, if all goes well, yeah," Jaune smiled sheepishly, hand rubbing his head, before his face turned determined.

Jaune reached out and grasped her hand.

Pyrrha looked into his eyes, and she saw none of the hazy doubt that had once clouded it.

"Make no mistake, Pyrrha," Jaune declared. "Next semester, next schoolyear, it doesn't matter. I'm getting into Beacon _even if I have to tear its walls down!"_

Pyrrha couldn't help but grin. "Is that a promise?"

Jaune mirrored her grin. " _I promise."_

A figure passed over them, blocking out the sun and casting them into an eclipse. Jaune and Pyrrha didn't need to look up to know what it was; the hulking frame of a Beacon Airship cutting through the clouds.

"That's my ride," Pyrrha spoke, her eyes not leaving his.

Jaune scoffed, his eyes twinkling. "That'll be mine too, soon enough!"

Pyrrha chuckled, and so did he.

Jaune raised his right hand out, clenching it into a fist.

Pyrrha mirrored the movement, unused to such actions.

His fist bumped hers.

"See you later then," Jaune smirked. "Invincible Girl."

Pyrrha mirrored the smirk. "Don't keep me waiting too long, Jaune."

She pulled her fist back first, and with a few tentative steps, Pyrrha turned around and started walking away, towards Beacon, toward her dreams.

Jaune watched the scarlet-haired form move towards the Beacon Airships until he could discern her form no longer. For a few moments, Jaune continued looking around, and save for what looked like four strangely familiar blonde people fistfighting, and wrestling in the mud, surrounded by security guards, there was nothing else of note.

Jaune looked up to the majestic silhouette of a Beacon Airship, and reached out his hand as if to grasp it.

This would be his ride someday, but not today.

He let the outstretched hand fall.

Today, he had a different ride.

In the horizon, a glint of gold and silver caught his eye.

Jaune's eyes sharpened, narrowing against the light. The hazy silhouette coalesced into the ever-familiar form of a bullhead; its strange insignia, a horse crowned by the moons glimmering gold.

 _"_ _Call me an optimist, Councilman,"_ Jaune mouthed the words silently. _"_ _But I got a good feeling the Fang'll be willing to talk soon enough."_

He had a couple of months. One final summer vacation it was then.

With nary a look back, he left the hill and began walking forward.

* * *

 _"_ _The number you have dialed is either unattended, or out of our coverage area, please…"_

Emerald Sustrai swore as her scroll failed to connect yet again. To avoid being tracked, Cinder disposed of and found new scrolls every month. Taking a short breath, again, she input the month's number.

 _"_ _The number you have dialed is either unattended, or out of –"_

"Damn," Emerald snarled. She had tried all the scroll numbers Cinder had made use of for the year, and still, her scroll failed to connect.

When Cinder wanted to disappear, she didn't only disappear; she seemed to have wiped out every possible trace of her existence from the face of the earth. She couldn't even contact Mercury, and the safe houses they'd used in Vale were instantly repurposed into commercial or storage areas, their new tenants none the wiser.

In the corner of his eye, her quarry bid goodbye to… ( _was that Pyrrha Nikos?!)_ , put his hands in his pockets, and walked off to the side.

With a single flicker of hesitation, Emerald looked back to her scroll, then to the increasingly disappearing form of Jaune Arc.

She took a deep breath.

She pocketed the device and followed him.

Jaune Arc eventually left the airfield, or… perhaps it was more accurate to say that he left the "proper" airfield.

The airships and bullheads at where he was now were older, beaten, and bearing the scars of time and battle. Away from the fancier bullheads used by the Councilmen, Huntsmen, and big businessmen, these aircraft were used by the smaller, the weaker, and the less wealthy. Within these ships were bulk shipments of food and produce from far-away villages. Other aircraft would be carrying crates upon crates of electronics and work-in-process.

Some aircraft ferried people, particularly into places that not many would dare to trod.

Back in the airfield, with Huntsmen and security breathing down everyone's necks, her hands were tied. Here, though? In the crowds where everyone walked shoulder to shoulder? Emerald cracked her fingers.

Subtly increasing her pace, and weaving an illusion around the Arc's eyes, she stumbled forward and 'bumped' him.

To the eyes of the Arc, it would look as if a mousy haired girl, no older than twelve, had bumped him while chasing a ball.

The Arc continued walking, unperturbed. Emerald, on the other hand, walked away with the contents of his right pocket – _a wallet._

Emerald resisted the urge to smirk. There _had_ to be something useful in here.

She opened the wallet, and almost immediately, she had been struck by two details. One, the wallet tore and stretched as soon as she had opened it, and given that it was practically flawless when she'd taken it, indicated that it was brand new and of horrible, cheap, make.

The second detail? It had _nothing._

Deft fingers fumbled through the wallet for any hidden pockets. Nothing. No pictures, no cards, no identification, hell, there was no money in here except for a handwritten 'you owe us' note from an M.M. & M.M.

Emerald grit her teeth. What the fuck was this?

Jaune continued walking, and the people he passed changed from aspiring Huntsmen and Huntresses, well-to-do families and well-dressed people of status into farmers, workers, faunus, and various other frontiersmen.

Disguising herself as a sweaty faunus labourer, she 'bumped' the Arc once more. Skilled fingers barely caressing Jaune's thighs, sliding into his pockets.

Her lips almost twitched into a triumphant grin. There, held firmly in her fingers was the Arc's very own scroll.

Her hands trembled. What terrible secrets must this machine hold? What machinations and schemes lie hidden and obscured within its depths?

She looked at the scroll.

Her jaw dropped.

It was very clearly second-hand. The engraved name 'Rouge' was crossed out and sloppily replaced with a scrawled 'Jaune'. The machine was cracked, held together only by prodigious abuse of duct tape and glue.

She pressed the activation button on the scroll and it still somehow opened.

Emerald blinked.

There was no password. She didn't even need to have it hacked.

The thief grinned. _Mission complete._ With the scroll in her hand, no doubt she would be able to discern the Arc's mysterious agenda and schemes. With shaking fingers and sweaty palms, she opened his messages and –

She blinked.

Like everything she knew about the Arc, like everything she'd been able to achieve, like the contents of his wallet, _the inbox was fucking empty._

 _Did he purge the contents of his inbox?_ Emerald panicked. _Does he know someone's after him?!_

She looked ahead to the Arc, and he seemed to be standing at a crossroads, scratching his head, looking left and right as if he were a lost puppy.

"Huh," she muttered, looking once more into his inbox. Now that she looked at it, it wasn't empty, it was just… well… kind of sad. There was a disproportional amount of 'messages sent' as compared to 'messages received', and the only people that bothered to respond seemed to be a 'Pyr N', a 'Best Twin', a 'Do Not Listen To Twin', a 'Sunglasses Miller', and some random 'Old Man Winchester'.

Truly, no one of note. She leafed through their conversations and they seemed to be nothing more than inane, useless drivel like, "Don't forget to buy dust for Penny.", "Sup dude, can I get a ride to your place?", "Remember, you have a semester."

This… this couldn't be it. He had less shit on this thing than one of Cinder's weekly disposed scrolls. Desperate, she continued scanning through his files until she noticed one very suspicious detail.

Of all of the scroll's memory, 70% of it was dedicated to a certain, singular folder.

 _This is it!_ Giddy, Emerald opened the folder without a second thought.

The folder opened, the screen steadily faded into deepest black, and somehow, the machine itself began to rumble and vibrate.

Emerald tensed; green tendrils of auric light enveloping her form protectively. Though her red eyes narrowed, she stared ahead at the black screen spellbound, heart pounding with both fear and anticipation.

A face appeared on the screen.

Emerald's heart leaped in her chest. The face of a beautiful faunus woman appeared on screen. Her skin was a luscious caramel, her cat ears black and smooth like a cougar, her eyes were lined with purple and glinted burnished gold.

Emerald brought the scroll closer to her face. Aura sharpened her senses, and she prepared to memorize _everything_ –

 _"_ _Oh my,"_ the faunus woman onscreen giggled. " _Ghira, may I have some of your_ milk, _nyaaa ~"_ she stuck out her tongue and –

 _What what_ what, what _what_ _ **whaaat?!**_ Emerald immediately skipped the video, only to be beset by images and videos of bunny faunus performing increasingly questionable acts towards 'carrots'. Every swipe merely taught Emerald more and more about the faunus anatomy in ways she had never wanted to see!

 _She wasn't Mercury Black, but then and there did she swear to murder every Anglerfish Faunus she met._

"Muu," the bunny faunus looked up, big eyes teary and passionate. "What a big carrot this is. I don't think I can finish it alone. Can I call my frie –"

Slowly, she looked up from the scroll, and into the eyes of the uncomfortable mob that had begun to step away from her. Blissfully, Jaune Arc had still not taken notice, and before his white-cloaked back could disappear further into the distance, Emerald had already caught up to him.

 _There had to be something…_ anything!

She had already tried the pockets to the front, now, her hands moved towards the back pockets and –

And then Jaune Arc stopped walking.

Unprepared for the sudden halt, Emerald's hands cupped Jaune's _back pockets._

 _"_ _Wha –"_ Emerald blurted out, as she finally took stock of her surroundings.

So focused was Emerald on her task that she failed to notice the mundane going-ons in her surroundings.

When Emerald looked up, she came face to face with her own reflection, staring into a polished helm, lovechild between those used by Atlesians and the masks used by the White Fang. To her left, similarly-helmeted figures in white cloaks began to draw their weapons, and to her right, more white-cloaks began cutting off her avenue of escape.

Even the laborers and civilian faunus in the area shot her nasty looks.

She had been surrounded.

In her surprise, her fingers squeezed, and they squeezed something _soft._

Jaune squeaked.

Emerald swore.

These… _New_ Fangs did not look amused.

Scattered all throughout the planet, a certain Six Sisters felt the inexplicable urge to wail in purest anguish.

Splayed on cushions outside The Club, Albus the Horse snorted.

* * *

 **==To be continued. |\|/**

* * *

 **Whatever Happened to Jaune's Puppy?**

 **Years Ago…**

"So, Jaune," Rouge smiled. "Do you love your puppy?"

"I do, Rouge!" little Jaune Arc smiled, rubbing the belly of the adorable Subwoofer Mors. "Woofer Mors is the best!"

Rouge grinned at the sight of her beloved little brother playing on the rug.

Then she pressed a sword to his hands.

"Now kill it," she whispered to Jaune gleefully, pointing at the puppy.

Jaune gaped. "But– but, why?!"

Rouge laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "To make you stronger, Jaune. Pain is an intrinsic part of human existence, and if you want to be a Huntsman, you need to understand pain."

Jaune only hugged Woofer Mors closer, the dog's tongue lolling out floppily.

"Besides," Rouge pointed a thumb at herself. "Dad made everyone kill their pets in cold blood, and _we turned out great!"_

"R-rouge," Sienna whispered. "It was supposed to be a test! Dad made us _stop_ after–"

"It'll also get rid of your squeamishness!" Rouge continued on cheerfully. "As a Huntsman, sometimes, we will be called to put down our inevitably traitorous peers. As a Huntsman, sometimes, you must also be able to amputate limbs if it means survival, regardless of whether or not your comrades scream ' _It was just a splinter, you crazy bitch,'_ and _'_ _It's my right arm trapped underneath the rubble, not my left, you asshole!"_

Sienna pulled at Rouge's sleeve. "I – I don't think now's a good time to teach Jaune all of these…"

"Nonsense," Rouge laughed. "It'll be a learning experience. Besides, we got that guy a rocket arm anyway, so it all evened out."

Bare feet padded down from the wooden staircase above. Bianca Arc yawned, dressed in loose white pyjamas that never seemed to stain no matter how much coffee she spilled on herself.

"What's all this, guys?" Bianca mixed herself a pot of jasmine tea.

"Bianca!" Sienna grinned, tension leaving her shoulders. "Thank _God_. Rouge wants to make Jaune kill his dog!"

Bianca blinked. "Kill the dog as in the test of character we all hilariously failed at, or kill the dog as in kill the dog?"

"Kill the dog as in kill the dog!" Sienna shrieked.

"Rouge, don't make Jaune kill his dog," Bianca poured herself a cup.

"But Biancs, look at it!" Rouge reasoned, holding her hands out as if they were free of blood. "Just like how hitting a piece of meat tenderizes it, making Jaune kill his dog would toughen him up!"

Sienna raised a weak finger. "That analogy doesn't make se –"

Bianca sighed, and turned to look, a refusal on her lips –

In Jaune's arms was a small canine black and white of fur. As was natural for its breed, it was small, and fat, and fluffy, and its ears were big. It's snout was relatively long, and it's butt was the very definition of squish.

Bianca's face twisted into a rictus of horror.

There, held in Jaune's tiny arms, was the squirming, fluffing, smiling, _leering_ form of **The Corgi.**

"No guys," Jaune frowned. "I'm not hurting Woofer Mors, and that's final." Jaune turned around and began walking, moving away.

Over his shoulder, the corgi turned its head around, the popping of its spine audible as its head rotated a full 180 degrees.

Sienna gasped.

 _"_ _What the fu–"_ Rouge mumbled, taking the toy sword she had handed Jaune and brandishing it menacingly.

Slowly, the edges of the dog's mouth twitched upwards, revealing fangs framed by a gimlet smile –

Bianca's sword was in her hands and midstroke before anyone could blink.

* * *

 **AN: Yes, damn it, just like the one in the past chapter, this is an omake of Schrodinger-levels of canonicity. However, given that saying the previous section was an omake would feel like backpedalling,** ** _the only choice is to go deeper!_**

 **AN2: Yes the Corgi is Zwei.**


End file.
